Our Regular Life: April 2015

We can finally all breathe again! This past week has been a whirlwind of rehearsals and productions and very little sleep! But the show turned out great and Laura love love loved being in it, as I knew she would. And now, it feels like she is somehow more grown up. She is so much more confident in herself, and she has really been able to branch out socially with all of the older kids in the play. She has hung out with the other little kids, right up to the tweenagers, and made friends with all of them. It has been such a great experience for her, and I'm so glad she was afforded this opportunity.

Laura in her trio, the Lullaby League

Cowering under the Wicked Witch of the West

"Follow the Yellow Brick Road!"

Laura as a poppy

"It's snowing!"

Laura's favourite part of the show - the curtain call!

Pleased as punch to receive flowers from her Daddy after the show

Some photos with the cast after closing night

Laura and her celebrity crush, Dorothy

Thanks to everyone who came out to watch and support her! She was so pleased to have fans in the audience for each performance. We will definitely be interested in more theatre in the future, but for now are looking forward to a break before getting back to our regularly scheduled programming!

Last week, a high school friend of mine messaged me to tell me that our beloved high school drama teacher had been in a serious (single vehicle) car accident, and had been air lifted to a major hospital where, despite two surgeries and all efforts to save her, she had succumbed to her injuries. The day before Easter weekend.

I was shocked. I still am, really. Aside from being a fabulous teacher, she was a mother to three elementary school aged boys, and my heart absolutely breaks for them and her husband. All week I have been perusing her facebook page where there has been an outpouring from the community on how she had touched their lives. And it is all so sad I can hardly bear it. A former student of hers set up an email to write letters and memories of her for her family to keep. This is what I sent:

Dear Bean,

Where to even start?

I was shocked to hear of your sudden passing. As the details trickled in, my confusion turned to anger. Why you? Why you, who has been a light in so many people's lives? A genuinely kind and gentle soul, always there to provide encouragement, a listening ear, a much needed smile. Always a smile. There are many things I will remember you by, but your big, bright smile certainly not the least of them. Why you?

I was amongst the first students you ever taught at Park Street fifteen years ago, and I remember when you started how everyone was abuzz with the excitement of a new, young teacher. As we got to know you, something really stood out. You were different than most teachers. You didn't talk or look down on us - you treated us with respect and kindness on a level other teachers didn't. And I remember the difference in your classroom. The students felt the respect; they offered the same respect back. Essentially, it translated into a more peaceful classroom. A better learning environment. As I went through university and my teaching degree, I always remembered how you made your students feel: respected, worthy of your time and attention. This was a teaching practice I adopted as best I could while learning the ropes, and I would like to think that not only did your outlook and approach affect your students in the first degree, but also my students in the second degree, and who knows how much further your kindness spread?

And as a fellow young mother, years after I had graduated, I continued to receive your support and kindness. I miscarried my first pregnancy. And I felt so alone. So many people don't talk about it, and when it happens to you, you just feel so alone. I reached out to you, because you were one of the brave souls who did talk about it, who didn't hide it like it was something to be ashamed of. I could see the pain in your eyes when you talked about it, and although there isn't much to say to make something like that better, I took comfort in your support and knowing that I was not alone in my grief. With this too, I try to pay forward what I can in support of other mothers who miscarry. You were inspiring like that.

I have so many memories from being in your classes, every single one of them good. From you chowing down on clementines while pregnant with Sam, to you being stressed about our impending presentations and telling us you were going to turn into a, "Think of another word, think of another word! .... Super mean lady!" We all just laughed at you, knowing you wouldn't. And didn't. Still brings a smile to my face. Such good times in drama class.

I wish more teachers could be like you, because its not only about the subject knowledge you impart, but the experiences you create, the virtues you model, and the way you make people feel that really stand out in the grand scheme of things. My heart just completely aches for your young family, and although you were taken way too soon, I hope these letters serve to remind them of how many lives you touched, and how incredible a woman you were. Live on, Sweet Spirit. In all of us.

I wanted to keep it fairly succinct, but I really could have gone on and on about how fondly I remember her, and how she was such a positive influence in so many young people's lives. You needed to know her to understand how great she really was. I know people tend to put people who have passed on a pedestal, accenting their shining attributes, but really, I can't remember anything negative about this woman. She was always smiling in the halls whether you knew her or not, she brought an energy to every room she entered. She was so kind, and compassionate, and treated us like equals. I still can't understand why she, of all people, was taken so soon.

For someone who is not directly involved in my life any more, I sure have spent an overwhelming amount of time with her and her family heavily weighing on my mind this week. I guess because I am also a young mother now, it makes it that much more relatable. It could have been me. It could have been Josh. She was just on her way to work on a regular day, on a road she had traveled thousands of times. I drove by there this week. Twice. It's not on my way to anywhere, but I needed to see it. I took flowers - something I've never done before, in hopes to help myself process this. My hands shook.

Today was her funeral. In a church that was meant to hold about 200 people, I bet there were at least 500 there. The pews were packed, there were people standing in the aisles of the sanctuary, shoulder to shoulder in the foyer, in the basement, and overflowing into the street. I have been to several funerals, mainly for my grandparents and older people, which are sad in their own respect, but generally I feel happy for them that they lived a full life, filled with love and family, and everything you'd want. So I've never been more sad at a funeral than I was today. I cried my way through her husband's entire tribute, and many other times throughout the service. This woman was 39. She was in the prime of life. Her children were ages 13, 9, and 6. Her baby was six years old! I just. can't...

Speaking to others there was difficult. One of the teachers, notorious for his positive outlook, asked me if I was all right, to which I replied no. Tears trickled down his face as he said quietly, "I know. It's absolute shit." The fact that he found no joy was significant to me. One of my other former teachers said that she thought she had received a sign from her, letting her know that everything was all right. I still don't feel it, but I hope she's right.

I think what everyone is taking away from this is: you have to live life doing what you love, and spreading kindness and joy. I can't imagine she would have many regrets, because she did just this, every day. Rest in peace, you beautiful soul, and know that you have made the world a better place for so many people.