(This wonderful acknowledgement letter is about the power that resides within each person. We never know which conversations are the most important or how they will manifest in the world.)
Subject: With love and gratitude
Mr. Cumming,
I am writing to you with love and gratitude for all that you taught me as a student in “Understanding Teaching I & II” at the University of Maine about 20-some years ago. Tonight, you were on my mind and in my heart. I think it important to let you know…
I have never forgotten the important lessons you taught us: attitude is choice, refrain from 3rd party conversations, be an inspired teacher, and in everything do it with energy, enthusiasm, and like it matters. I speak of you often–quite fondly. Your class was one of the most profound ones that I was blessed to have. It is one of only a few that had real life applications that helped prepare me to teach.
I smiled tonight when I came across your blog, “Through Our Hands”. You gave this to our class all those years ago. Although the pages have yellowed, it is something that I have saved and treasured. It has been a source of renewal and rededication every school year.
As I prepare a presentation on school climate and the significance a positive one has on our students in our level 5 (failing status) middle school in Springfield, MA, I am reenergized and inspired. Your words, your message, your love remind me that I cannot change the cynical teachers or motivate the unmotivated, but I can tap into the power that I have within! For all of that, I am so grateful!
In Understanding Teaching II, you gave our class the assignment to write a letter to a teacher we had that was an inspiring teacher. The assignment would be graded on the honor system. I was the student who lied and said that I did the assignment, only to find out a couple weeks later that the teacher had passed away from bone cancer. In a subsequent class, when you greeted me at the threshold to our classroom, you knew that there was something wrong. You pulled me aside, listened, and then told me that I would have to find another way to let her know, and make peace with the situation. I did. I continue to honor her and you in my classroom (actually in my life) by always telling people how much I appreciate them. I don’t wait to let a person know.
In this spiritual journey that I am happy to be on right now, I am slowly beginning to understand why I have met the people I have met and why I have had the experiences I have had. I am thankful for all of them.
The work that I do in Springfield is some of the hardest work I have ever done, but the pieces of my life are beginning to come together. All along God had a plan for me–it was all in preparation for the work I am doing now and the work that I am intended to do. Your teachings were an important part of this plan. As I move forward in becoming a school leader, I will continue to apply what you taught and what you teach.
I am honored to have been one of your students and wish you continued love and blessings.
Sincerely,
Gina L. Martin-Ryan
(If you would like a copy of “Through Our Hands, e-mail me (bill@oneperson.net and I will send one along.)
The Gift of a Life
By Tracey Hair
(Editor’s note: Tracey Hair is a spectacular writer! This is an incredibly powerful tribute upon the death of her beloved sister, Kerrie.)
When I was asked to write a remembrance of my sister… I was afraid I couldn’t do it, not because I didn’t know her, but because It felt impossible. How do you describe a current of wind, or the light from a star, or the iridescence on a dragonfly’s wing? They’re there. You can feel them, see them, sense them, be touched by them, and reflect on them. But how do you capture in words such a presence? How do you capture in words the journey we shared during her 40 years. In my attempt, I ‘ll tell you that she was a force of light in darkness; a huge drop of God infused with strength and courage and I know in my effort to describe her spirit through words I run the risk of losing precious drops of who she was. Yesterday I read a poem written by Mary Oliver, she wrote:
“Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this, too, was a gift.”
Perhaps this is the best way to understand the blessing my sister brought to my life and to the life of her four children David, Damien , Krystal and Mathew.
When someone dies we create a memory soup. We season our remembrance with who the person truly was, with who we wished they were, with parts of who they never were and we fill things in to smooth out their rough edges. Kerrie’s life was such, that no editions, deletions, alterations or modifications are needed. She was a masterpiece in a gallery of imperfections; a warrior whose many facets took the form of sister, mother, daughter, protector.
Some may look at her life inside a box. A box guiding what we think one’s life should be; what successes they had in life, what they achieved and what groups they were a part of. I suppose that’s the amazing part about my sister. She had none of that. Yet her life had a profound impact on me, my mother and all of her children. Her life was a life of survival, survival from addiction, violence and a world that seemed harsh. Her life, the life of survival is the reason I know so deeply who my sister was.
She was shy but incredibly outgoing inside, as a child she was timid and quiet but she was always there quietly in the background. I remember when I was four she came to kindergarten with me for an entire week because I was afraid of it. She was only six. And when I was five she held an icepack on my head because I had knocked myself out at school. Eight, nine and ten, we played marbles together and swung for hours on the swing set, one time we painted eyes on ice cream containers. We wore them as hats on top of our heads to stop the magpies from swooping us. We were as much alike as we were different, I liked to swim, she didn’t; She liked music, I didn’t ; she liked fashion, I was a tomboy, she hated school, I loved it, she liked boys , I didn’t.
We travelled a lot as kids following our mother up and down the east coast of Australia sometimes by train but mostly by greyhound. Moving around so much made it hard for us to make friends – so we became each other’s friend. We would ride the subway together and run a muck in the city, visiting china town and McDonalds any chance we had, once we were offered a ride home by the
police, at least that’s how I’ll tell it here. Kerrie took the heat that day. In fact most of our life she took the heat. Being big sister was important to her. Just ask the girl in 6th grade who stole my back pack.
Kerrie had a strong flow of justice running through her veins. At times it got her into trouble, like the time she pushed the train buzzer to stop – only it was because a kid wouldn’t give up his seat for an older lady – somehow the conductor didn’t consider it an emergency. For many, like the old lady, Kerrie was their voice, she was their witness seeing them at their worst and best, and loving them anyway… but some days, like the day of the train buzzer, she’s the reason you wish you were an only child.
Kerrie was 18 months old when I entered the world. I have a box of childhood memories, most are little curled up photos fading in albums. Some are imbedded in my brain. I realized just yesterday that In most of the photos she had her arm around me. When she died on Monday I felt a piece of me die – the arm was gone… it was a feeling I didn’t expect as we hadn’t seen each other in a very long time. It was then that I realized that she had had her arm around me my entire life even when we both didn’t know it.
Being a part of her was not about knowing her favorite color or who inspired her from day to day, it was about loyalty and love. It was about having the courage to forgive, forget and most of all finding deep love without condition. My sister embodied this spirit.
Today, I would urge us all to listen to the current of the wind, look for the light from a star, the iridescence of the dragonfly’s wing, because … it’s there, … she’s there.. May the moon dance for all the light you have brought. May the sun reflect more brilliance for drinking your radiance. May winds blow stronger to carry you back home. May oceans quiet in reverence for your journey. May there be stillness to hear you. May birds pick their finest petals to cover your eyes. May whales sing a song to you. May the white dove guide you to the next world. May all the strength you have brought be the chariot that carries you. May our prayers invoke love from the Divine. May all our love provide a blanket of peace.
And may you rest in that peace.
With all the love in my heart and every blessing!
Namaste!
