This past week a very special person past away. My middle school English teacher fought the fight of breast cancer for over 30 years and it finally won. She was a fighter, she was the original fighter. She was the strongest woman I have ever met. Her personality was strong and tenacious and she left a deep impression on my heart.
I met this Scottish woman when I was in middle school. I had heard about her. She was tough and could be mean. She was loud and others were quite afraid of her. she had a legacy of being a very hard teacher. She has this unique accent that made you sit on the end of your seat to listen to every word that she said. The words had to sink in as this woman had authority and knowledge that no one I had ever met up until this point of my life that I needed. She taught English. She taught about Shakespeare. She read books and she paced up and down between the rows on students as you wrote. She taught me the love of written word.
I would be stay in a state of fear and awe when I was in her class. I did not want to disappoint this woman. Part of me was afraid of her wrath, but part of me met one of the first of very few women that I learned to respect. She became a model to me. A model of what a strong woman looked like. She would sprinkle in stories about her children and her husband but this woman…. She was like no one I had ever met in my young life. I wanted to find the fire that she captivated and had at her disposal every time I saw her. She had a strength that I had never seen in anyone, let alone a woman. I was drawn to her and I did not want to disappoint her.
I do not remember what I wrote about while in her class. I know that she was hard at me but never showed anger towards me. Her love for me was shown in a way I needed. She was strong and courageous and she taught me to be the same. She taught me to journal and write down what I felt. Something that saved my life. She knew things were not okay in my home but she did not pry. I wouldn’t have told her anyways. I was so afraid. But in her class. I could write. In her class, I could be safe and be who I was becoming. In my young years, this meant a lot to me. Over time, I walked into her class knowing I would be poured into. In her own unique Scottish way. I would leave her class with my head a little higher. Someone beleived in me. I needed that. She freely gave it to me.
This woman was also one of the funniest women I have ever met. She was raw and told things like they were. She would have had choice things to say to my mother, had she known the whole story. But I kept quiet about that. I lived in a world where my school was my life. Home was hell. School was safe. I had this beloved teacher who would pour into me for the hour I was with her each day. I let it soak it. I wanted to know everything that she had to teach me. She gave me hope. I learned to appreciate the power and love of the English language in her class.
Many years ago, I found her on facebook and we started chatting on there. A few months years ago, I met her and her husband at their favorite Italian restaurant not far from thier home. We caught up on old times and I filled her in on my life. I met this man that she did speak about in class. I watched as this couple was there for each other. The next time I saw her, I was at the memorial for her husband. I stood at a distance. I would not know at the time the depth of her love for this man.
About a few months ago, I started to visit her at her home. She was grieving the loss of the man she married. I would sit and listen at that first visit to her unfold the story of her life. She spoke of how she grew up, what her parents did. How she grew up in a place that was very different than America. How her and her two sisters faught and how they managed a very humble beginning in Scotland. Her home country. Her parents were Irish, but she was born and raised in Scotland. She would then unfold her story about how she met the man she fell in love with and married. She would tell me how they fell in love at first site and how this love just grew. How she left her home country with him and started a life in America. It was a love story that grew over the years. It was a side to her I had never seen. The love of her life had recently passed away and she missed him more than anything. I had a new level of life that this woman was sharing with me. I just kept asking questions. Her story captivated me.
She would ask me about my life and I would tell her the ups and downs. I would share with her what I learned and she would tell me that she always knew I had a gift of writing. She would tell me that I have a strength and would get through what I was going through.
One day, as I looked at her, I asked her, “What keeps you going?”
And just as quick as I asked, she said, “Rage.”
I had to stop and think about that. She went on to tell me that she was going to beat the stupid breast cancer that she was fighting for the past 30 years. She went on to tell me how she argued with her doctors the last visit she went to about her treatment. She then told me that just as she was going to beat her cancer, I was going to beat this thing I had going on in my brain with the stupid headaches. She was fierce. Even after all the years, she was fierce.
That first visit was hopeful. The next visits, well she was declining and I knew I needed to just be present with her. I was so grateful to her for sharing her life with me and looked forward to seeing her. I was able to express how much she meant to me back in middle school years. I was able to thank her and explain all that I was going through then. She just listened. She was again there for me.
One evening when I went to visit there were not many words exchanged. She wasn’t herself and i wanted to just be there. I helped her to get to her bed. I watched this mighty woman become a frail lady who was fighting her body. She tried to walk but her body that held her frame was getting weaker. She sat on her walker and I was able to adjust her socks and put them back on her feet. A humble task that was an honor to do for this woman who gave me a reason to live. I knew I would not have much time with her but wanted to be very intentional about the time I had. She had been in the hospital for almost a year, an infection. Her frail body was slowing down. Her heart yearned to be with her husband again. The cancer was taking over.
So I sat with her and watched Jeopordy one visit with her. We did not speak much. I was able to bring her a bear claw one night. It was not the best night and she did not eat it while I was there. But when I saw her next, I asked her about the bear claw and this little girl smile came out and she said it was the best that she ever had. I brought her over some food I made for myself before I came over, I think it was apple and cinnamon. I was able to watch her as she almost licked the plate that it was on. I got to visit with her two daughters and help them with her. The last few visits were quieter than the first. But I knew that I was needed and I needed her as well. I knew it would not be long.
I would visit her for the last time and we would watch Jeopordy. She got tired and decided to go to bed. I went in her room and saw her frail body in a hospital bed. I told her that I would be back soon and bring her a bear claw if she wanted. She knodded and said yes, she would love that. Her daughter, Kristi came through and said, “look, my mom’s hair is growing back in.” Her wig was off and you could see the white hair coming in.
She smiled and I could see the hair coming in and was like wow! That looks amazing. I told her that maybe she should color it bright pink. She smiled that little girl smile and thought about it. I thought, what would the people at Parker think about that. There was a little bit of discussion wtih the health person about coloring it blue or turquoise. But I kept my eyes on this woman who I so dearly loved. I asked if I could give her a hug and then wrapped myself around her and told her that I loved her. She told me that she loved me too. I told her I would be back that next Monday and would bring her a bear claw. She smiled and I left. I would not see her again, she past away last week.
I am grateful for the memories of this woman. She will forever be in my heart. I am grateful that she loved me when I felt no love from my own mom. I am grateful that she kept me going and kept me fighting what was such a fucking hard life. The wisdom she gave me while teaching me was like nothing else. It saved me. It saved me from dying. It saved me from going insane. She saved me. She breathed life into me every time we saw each other. She gave me hope that life is more than what you are dealt. She was not dealt a rich future from birth. But she created her life to be what she wanted. I have never been so inspired by anyone in all my life. She, she saved me. She loved me in a way that no one else could. I was not a toubled youth. I was not defiant of my teachers in school. I did what they wanted me to do. I did the best I could. I knew that school would be my only way out of the hell my life had been going.
My writing and her gift and love for it, it lives in me. I will continue to write. In honor of her. I will miss her dearly. I have absorbed everything that she has poured into me. I was able to sit with her as you would a friend and say to the person on that screen, “dont go in there,” and hear her laugh in agreement. Her scottish accent. Her matter of fact way of how life was to be. How she created it for herself. She poured herself right into me. I will make her proud. I will become what she saw in me at the young age when we met. I have great comfort knowing that I was able to honor her in the last few months and show her how grateful I was for her in my life. I can only hope that my life makes that impact for others. My story does need to be told. It needs to help someone else know they matter and they are important. In honor of her, I will do that.
Quiet Intensity 