Remembering Mom

I've been silent for the last couple of weeks because I lost my beautiful, vivacious, and creative mom.  Her passing was a blessing as she was fighting Alzheimer's disease and was still at the stage where she knew what was happening to her.  I can be happy for her because she knew what was coming, because she lost her mom to the same disease just a few years prior.  But I am heart-broken, too.  So please bear with me because I need to take this time to remember her. 

My mom made me the teacher I am today.  I grew up with "Puff the Magic Dragon" played on her ukulele, home-made Halloween costumes that we created together, magical trips to the library, and sing-alongs gathered around the piano.  I grew up having the red fire truck that I desperately wanted instead of the doll my dad's company wanted to gift me with.  I grew up wearing red, blue, green, and yellow.  I don't think I wore pink, ever...not because she avoided it, but because I didn't really like the color.  I grew up with my mom as my softball coach.  I grew up with my mom at every insufferable piano recital and talent show.  I grew up reciting my bad poetry to my mom as she made spaghetti.

I watched my mom teach oceans, rainforests, deserts, famous Americans, pioneers...I could go on and on.  But what made these units special is that she taught them with imagination.  When she taught about oceans, she turned her whole classroom into an ocean.  Her students lived in their imaginations as they conquered science, social studies, math, and language arts topics.  She made everything come alive with song, dance, theater, literature, and art.  I grew up watching her teach.  I was the typical teacher's kid...I spent my whole childhood at school.  And if I wasn't at our school, I was at my grandmother's school (her mother's).  It was impossible for me NOT to become a teacher,  I think.

I fought it for a long time.  I had journalism or piano performance in my crosshairs, NEVER teaching.  ANYTHING but teaching.  I was so focused on not becoming my mom.  But, my mom knew me, knew my skills and my talents; she had seen me with kids.  I acquiesced, but swore to never wear "teacher shoes," which at the time were SAS shoes. 

Losing my mom this week, I listened to countless people describe her and their interactions with her.  I learned from her students, some of whom swear she "saved" them.  I read testimonials written by former students and parents in her retirement books.  I cried, and I laughed.  The joke is on me.  Throughout all of my struggles to not become my mom, I became my mother's daughter.  To. The. Core.  I know she was proud of me.  I know she loved me.  But, I'm proud of her too. And, I miss her desperately.

I love you mom.

Tracy