A Third Course

This blog post seems familiar to me. I wonder if I didn't share it before, but the thought bears repeating.

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Ever - Posted May 14, 2003

Have to teach CPR tonight and I really don't want to. I hate doing it so much. On the bright side this will be the last time I ever have to teach it. Well let's not say ever, let's say for a long time.

This brings me to other recent happenings.

I heard someone say across the table from me during yesterday's meeting that she danced with her father at a wedding. He told her it was the first time he had danced in 25 years. This brought to mind the whole thing of 'last' anything. Why can't someone tell us at every point "This is the last time you'll ever (fill in activity)". Would I have said something different besides "See Ya" if I had known we would never see Joe again after sixth period math 22 years ago? What if the last time I roller-skated back in high school is the last time I'll ever do that. Would I have enjoyed it more/savored it more if I'd known? Or even if I knew I only have 3 more times to do... would I make an effort to mark the moments. On my wall in my office I have a bulletin board filled with a collage of photographs of family, friends and memorabilia. It's there to remind me of happy times. There's a photo there of me holding an adorable baby named Olivia at a recent work related event. The baby was so sweet and I fell in love. Is that the one and last time I'll ever see her?

I recently heard of the death of a pre-school student of mine from 11 years ago. Her name was Sarah. I remember Sarah as a round faced, golden haired little imp. Sarah was a twin and she and her brother Daniel were favorites of mine from the moment I saw them. They were adorable children even when they were up to no good. Their home lives were troubled and I became an advocate for these children (and later for their little brother David) in a family situation that was sometimes frightening and endlessly transitional. I watched that little girl go from stubborn and recalcitrant to teachable and compliant.

I have a memory of this little girl sneaking out to the courtyard of the school to pick sweet peas one afternoon. I was beside myself when I couldn't find her. I had searched in all the usual places and was about to sound the alarm when I saw her out the window. I went out and dragged her inside, scolding her the whole way for scaring the life out of me. As I stopped to catch my breath and continue my tirade she brought those flowers out from behind her back and said 'for you'. Anyone who knows me would know that of course I cried.

I taught her for three years from when she started in diapers at age 2 until she 'graduated' to kindergarten. I watched her learn to love learning. I taught her to read and tie her shoes. I taught her to identify the seven continents and how to add. I knew that I could always find her in the 'Practical Life' area fixing herself a little snack of peanut butter on crackers. I knew that her favorite things to show and tell were things she found on the ground. I knew that she loved art especially anything that involved paint.

I loved that little girl and that is the person I lost two weeks ago; not the teenager who had just gotten her drivers license the day before her death. I lost Sarah and no one told me that that day in June after the 'goodbye' swim party 11 years ago was the last time that I would ever see Sarah. I moved across the country a few days later.

The children and staff of the Montessori school made me a quilt as a going away gift. Each child had decorated a square with fabric paint. I have Sarah's handprint on my bed.