All the thinking and planning and dreaming of what I would say on the day I finally got to write my farewell editorial has done me absolutely no good. I’m sitting at my desk Tuesday night, about two hours from deadline with a stack of flats that need editing and I have no idea what to say.
Who knew goodbye would be so hard?

This semester has shown me and my staff a set of challenges that we met head-on, and conquered. I’ve never been so proud to work with a group of people as I have been with this motley crew of editors, designers and reporters. Each individual brings their own personality to Student Media’s offices, brightening my day even when I jokingly fire someone for the 10th time in one day.
But with the highs, come the lows.

We’ve made mistakes and had to correct them. We’ve lost a trusted adviser and had to get used to a new one. We’ve fought the administration to get even the most benign facts.

We’ve taken personal attacks when someone didn’t like a story we ran. We’ve been accused of reporting false information by the very people who wouldn’t return our phone calls and emails begging for more information. But don’t think I’m complaining — its all in a day’s work.

For every time someone tried to discredit us, we’ve received a thank you from someone in the campus community for having the guts to chase down a story. For every time someone tried to keep information from us, we’ve managed to write a great story anyway — and created positive change.

But even though I have twice the number of gray hairs I did pre-March 23 when I took this desk, I wouldn’t trade one minute of anything.

Love us or hate us (or have no opinion at all), we bust our asses every week to try to bring students not just news they want to read, but news they need to know.

As for thank-yous, I should begin with my parents. They gave me my drive and determination, and whenever things seemed to get to be too much, they knew just what to say to keep me going.

Aside from my family, so many people at NKU have helped me. Without professors like Mary Cupito and advisers like Gayle Brown, I would have dropped out of school years ago. And without people like Jacque Day, this semester would have done me in.

From the day I started out a scared-to-death newsie hiding out in Room 4 of the old University Center offices, to today when I try to hide behind my cluttered up desk with piles of newspapers sliding off it, I’ll treasure every memory.

But first, I’ll get to the pile of flats that need editing and put my last issue to bed.