Today I recieved a lovely vase of flowers.
You see, last Wednesday, 2/16, I read in our paper the obituary of a woman who, over forty-two years ago, was my second-grade teacher for the fall semester. My family moved cross town, and after Christmas I attended another school for the last half of second grade. I remembered Mrs. “Smith” as young, pretty, and energetic, quite a contrast to the next teacher who was much older and quite dour in personality.
Not quite four years ago I met Mrs. Smith’s daughter at an instructor orientation for some elementary level summer camp classes. Her real name is distinctive in sound so I asked if they might be related, and she said yes. The daughter was pleased to hear from a former student because, you see, Mrs. Smith ended up teaching for only two years. By the time I knew her she had already been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, although we didn’t know that. After that school year she had to quit teaching, due to her health concerns.
So I bought a card, included a note with my remembrences of Mrs. Smith, especially when she dressed a a football player for Halloween! I took the card and left it at the funeral home in charge of arrangements for the burial.
This morning I had a call on my answering machine, from Mr. Smith. He said he wanted me to know how much the note meant to the family. It was placed on a table at the church, and Mr. Smith says the minister even referred to it in comments during the service. Mr. Smith wanted to bring me a vase of flowers from the funeral, and a copy of the memorial folder. It was a lovely thing for him to do, and the picture on the cover was of Mrs. Smith as I remembered her, a young woman. Inside I read about her life, and it appears she had a long, difficult struggle with MS and other afflictions, finally entering a care home in 1990, at about the age I am now.
The folder concluded “Sunday, February 13, merciful death freed her soul from her fragile and broken body, and she is free at last. Free at last.”
So Mr. Smith brought me the lovely bouquet of flowers, along with the memorial. We chatted for a moment. He was a teacher at the high school I attended, both coaching and teaching English. He wasn’t my instructor but he says my name is familiar(I also had two sisters who attended the same high school). I was touched by the consideration of the Smith family, for what I did was such a little thing.
Maybe it’s foolish to be bummed out by the passing of someone I knew for four and a half month, over forty years ago. But I remember her, when memories of all but a handful of other teachers have faded. MS sucks. 