Category: Emotions

Higher Ground

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

4-ways-to-prevent-office-bulliesI’ve observed bullying for most of my life. I was once the victim of bullying, a situation that I nipped in the bud by ignoring my antagonist whom I considered to be sadly damaged. I successfully defended a classmate who was the brunt of ugly jokes and taunts. As an educator I witnessed incidents of cruelty that were horrific. I did my best to teach both my children and my students the importance of living by a moral code imbued with sensitivity, integrity and kindness. When necessary I entered the fray to protect those who had become emotionally broken from the barrage of insults that they had experienced. Sadly I have noticed that over time the game of bullying has only seemed to grow stronger and more common as social media provides a powerful conduit for harming individuals with words and ideas.

Bullying appears to have evolved into a worldwide blood sport these days. We have a presidential candidate who is lauded by his supporters as a kind of warrior because of his fearlessness in accusing an opponent’s father of being somehow associated with an assassin or remarking on the physical flaws of women that he finds threatening. He hurls insults at entire religions and countries. Instead of admonishing and spurning him, large groups of people provide him with attention and adulation as though his lack of manners is a sign of courage rather than crudeness. What are our children to think?

We have countless commercials in which people quite subtly demean others in an attempt at humor. Why do we find it funny when an individual pokes fun at a friend’s command of grammar? What is so wonderful about a woman rolling her eyeballs at a husband being portrayed as a total moron? Why do we laugh when we know we should instead feel uncomfortable?

Facebook and Twitter abound with ugly derisive posts. We encourage bad behavior by sharing and retweeting comments that might once have been considered too rude to repeat. We say that we abhor bullying of any kind and yet we do little to stop the ceaseless chatter that demoralizes and demonizes individuals and groups alike. In today’s world none of us are immune from unwanted and often unsolicited hatefulness. It is little wonder that so many people are choosing to tune out.

Prince William and Princess Kate are attempting to vanguard a movement to bring attention to the horrific effects of bullying. Their campaign reminds us of the often unfair and sordid gossip that swirled around Princess Diana, William’s mother. The poor woman was hounded by cameras and invasions of her privacy. Rumors smothered her attempts to live normally. In the end she died in a tragic accident as she attempted to evade her stalkers. It might be said that she was the victim of a form of salacious and relentless bullying from a public all too hungry to learn her dirty little secrets.

I have generally found that bullies are quite insecure. While they may appear to exude confidence the truth is that they have a need to exert power over others to assuage their own fears. When stripped of their boorish behaviors they often have very little to offer. They are generally very unhappy people and many times are the product of abusive parenting practices. They struggle physically, academically and emotionally. Their bravado masks the emptiness that they feel. They need to dominate others so that they might may pretend to be powerful. They become particularly happy whenever they attract a following for their contemptible behaviors. Like the boorish dictators that they are, they mistake fear for respect. In most cases the quickest way to shut them down is to leave them alone and isolated, a tactic that is all too many times easier said than done.

Back in high school I ran for student body secretary. One morning I had a minor skirmish with a fairly well known bully. I stood at the entrance of my school handing classmates campaign material and requesting votes. Most people politely acknowledged my greeting but one fellow decided to speak his mind. He tore the paper that I had given him in half, spat on it, let it fall to the floor and then crushed it with his shoe. He looked me in the eye and proclaimed that nobody liked me and that I espoused a special hatred in him. He told me that I was so unattractive that it was hard for him to even look at me. As a parting shot he gave me directions as to where he thought I should go.

I suppose that he wanted me to cry or react in some manner but I was determined not to give him the satisfaction. The only thought that I had was a deep sense of sadness that his life was so bereft that he found some sense of joy in putting me down when I barely knew him. His actions only registered in my mind because they seemed so overblown and indicative of an individual who was headed nowhere in life. I’ve always remembered that occasion because I wanted to understand what kind of poison might have created someone so hateful. His cruelty was stunning to me because it said more about him than it did about me.

We all have a vested interest in helping not only those who are bullied but the bullies as well. Our children need counseling in how best to handle such negative situations but we also must consider how to help those whose actions are so obviously toxic. We can begin teaching our kids by modeling healthy behaviors ourselves. We have to speak out against anyone who wrongly uses words and actions to demean or harm. We must show our young that it sometimes requires courage to stand up for what is right. We have to be careful that in defending we do not sink into the morass. We can demonstrate how to debate with facts and ideas rather than insults.

There have been bullies throughout history. We have yet to find a sure fire way of ridding ourselves of them. Sometimes the answer is as simple as ignoring them. Other times we have to provide them with counseling and help. When all else fails figuratively bloodying their noses is our final option. Mostly though the most effective method for dealing with bullies involves being assured within ourselves. When we have confidence nobody can touch us. Feeling good about who we are is the first line of defense against bullies. Our goal for stopping the current trend toward ugliness should be to show our children how to rise to higher ground. When we provide them with a strong moral compass they will be ready to overcome any taunts that come their way and they will do so with the strength and conviction that we have imbued in them.

Linger Longer

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

glacier-sm10-735-rainbowI have a memory that I keep in my heart and often bring to life. It is from long ago. My father and I are sitting in the kitchen of our home on Northdale Street, just the two of us in the quiet of night. I am six years old and he is thirty one. We are at the table drinking grape juice with only the night light on the stove providing illumination. We are smiling and laughing. It feels good to be there with him. I can tell that both of us are happy and content. I can’t remember our topic of conversation but that doesn’t seem to matter. I only recall feeling at peace and wanting to linger there just a bit longer.

I have had many such moments over the years when I wanted to stop the ticking of the clock so that I might have more time to enjoy a special moment. It seems as though the childhood of my two daughters sped by far too quickly. I loved the simple times that we shared especially in the lazy days of summer when we were able to sleep in and had entire days before us to roam and find adventure. I remember stopping with my friend Linda for shaved ice snow cones on Old Galveston Road after swim lessons and traveling with Mike and the girls to the mountains in our Chevy truck. There was the year when my children and I read A Tree Grows In Brooklyn and pronounced it our all time favorite novel with tears rolling down our cheeks. I laugh at the thought of the day when we so enjoyed the movie E.T. that we returned for a second screening after dinner so that we might share our new favorite film with Mike. I loved the evenings when I sat in the front yard watching all of the neighborhood children run and play until the moon and the stars came out while laughing at the stories and wisdom of my good friends, Carol and Betty. Those were some of the best times of my life and I often wish that I had lingered just a bit longer when I was in those moments.

I have been on vacation trips so incredible that I never again wanted to return home. Seeing a rainbow in Glacier National Park as we rounded a curve in the road brought me to tears. Walking with grandson Andrew along the beach in Chatham still makes me smile. Remembering the spiritual conversations that I shared with Jack under the ancient trees of Yosemite National Park is a priceless treasure. Watching Ben and Abigail play so joyfully in Central Park or Eli and Ian romping on a rocky beach near Seattle are pictures to comfort me even when times grow difficult. Ringing in the New Year in Austria with Monica and Franz comforted me at a time of change and loss. If I had the power I would have stretched out those hours so that they would not have gone by so quickly. I would have stopped the clock and lingered longer.

Have you ever noticed that when we are experiencing pain, suffering or death even the seconds seem to stall as if time has decided to stand still to mock our suffering? We feel as though we will surely collapse before our trials are over. It is then that we find solace in harking back to thoughts of the good things that we have experienced, They remind us that life always has a tendency to work its way back to joy. Sadly we can’t seem to stop the advance of the hours when we are the happiest but we can bring pleasant images to mind anytime we want or need to do so.

We have no guarantees of what tomorrow or even the next minute will bring but we always have our memories. Even those who become afflicted with Alzheimers are often able to recall the distant past even when they no longer remember what happened only days before. Perhaps it is the mind’s way of helping us to cope. By thinking of the beauty and blessings we have known in the past it becomes easier to deal with even a difficult present.

When I was a very young and inexperienced teacher I often judged the success or failure of my day on the basis of how many bad events had occurred. I did that as a young mother as well. Over time I became happier and more productive by instead harking back to the positive things that had occurred. As I reflected on them I realized how much more often they occurred than the horrors. All and all if we linger just a bit longer when we are enjoying life that moment will imprint on our brains and serve us well in the future. 

We all have many struggles that overwhelm us. We grow fearful and sad. We wish for success, money and good health. We run in a rat race and accumulate possessions that ultimately grow old and worn. We soon realize that our happiest times are often so simple: seeing our babies for the first time, getting an unexpected hug or kiss, laughing until the wee hours with friends, feeling rain on our faces, reaching the top of a mountain. Our stresses usually come from forgetting to linger longer in a joyful moment.

A good friend recently wrote a blog dedicated to showing young mothers how to give themselves the gift of enjoyment in the moment. Perhaps each of us should begin a daily ritual in which we set aside a few minutes to be totally free of any but beautiful thoughts. It may be exercise that brings us to our happy place or music or even reading from a special book. We can meditate or write in a journal. Sometimes just sitting in silence is all that we need. We owe it to ourselves to take the time to linger longer. The more we do this, the easier it will become to relax and be present in an untroubled state of mind.

I must admit that I am someone who too often measures the merit of a day by the number of my accomplishments. I have difficulty slowing my pace and relaxing to the point of inactivity. I often feel that I am being selfish to lavish the gift of time on myself but I know full well that it is one of the best things that I might do. In being wholly in a relaxed state of mind I find clarity of purpose and energy to face any problems before me. I in fact become far more productive and tend to stew less over my own predicaments. I give myself oxygen first so that I will be useful to others who may need my help.

Find those triumphant memories that bring a smile to your face. Let them envelop you until you are certain that you will always remember how good they felt. Carry them with you as reminders that you have lived a good life and that you have been, are and will always be loved. Accept the offers of friendship and caring that are extended to you. Don’t be afraid. Just be sure to immerse yourself in happiness and linger just a bit longer.

Just Breathe

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

764562-Kid-1411175258-363-640x480My fourth grade school year was traumatic in more ways than one. My father had died the summer before and our family was in a state of grief and uncertainty. We had returned to a familiar neighborhood after Daddy was killed in the hope that being back among good friends would help us to heal. Our home was a shell of the one that we had inhabited with my father. Without his engineering income we had to downsize considerably but ours was a sound house and the neighbors were warm and welcoming. I reenrolled in Mt. Carmel Elementary School and was looking forward to being united with the classmates that I had known before we moved in my third grade year. It was comforting to be back in a place that had heretofore been quite happy for me. When I learned on the first day of school that I was in Sister B’s class I had little idea that my emotional rollercoaster would become even more torturous.

Sister B was one of those old school Catholic nuns about whom legends and comedy routines abound. She thought of verbal and physical punishments as ways to build lasting character in young boys and girls. Those of us subjected to her classroom management style thought differently. It took no more than a few weeks in her presence for me to become utterly terrified, so much so that I was afraid to even speak of my fears to my mother. That environment was totally the wrong place to be for someone already scarred by the death of a parent. It was so hellish in my mind that I somehow began to believe that I had unconsciously and unknowingly done something terrible for which I was being punished. Why else would I have to endure a year with this tyrant, I wondered? I adapted each day by telling myself to just breathe.

I was actually one of the students that Sister B most cherished. For a very long time I was not the object of her wrath. She loved me so much that she became good friends with my mother. She often gave me letters of encouragement and special religious gifts. I should have returned her affection but I have always been a social justice warrior and I witnessed her unkindnesses to my fellow students more often than not. I don’t know if she just didn’t realize the impact of her humiliations but I did. With no place to turn, I seethed inside each time one of my classmates was harmed. I found solace in escaping to a place in my mind where all I had to do was just breathe.

Sister B once created a bulletin board that featured rockets advancing to the moon. On the side of each rocket she had written the name of a student and the grade that the individual had made on a test. Mine was proudly standing on the lunar surface with a one hundred indicating my success. Down at the very bottom were the spacecraft of less fortunate souls whose names were on display as failures with their rockets lying broken in half. Even as a nine year old I knew that it was utterly wrong to bring such negative attention to those who had not done so well with their academics. I felt embarrassed that I had to sit near the bulletin board filled with so much venom and hurtfulness.

I listened to the verbal taunts of my teacher until even I felt broken. I lived in fear that I might one day invoke her ire and become the focus of her anger. I hardly slept at night and thought myself terrible for thinking badly of a religious person. I was torn between hating her and wanting to forgive her. Since there were no counselors back in those days I suffered in silence often reminding myself to just breathe whenever the atmosphere became unbearable. Eventually things turned dark even for me, one of her pets.

We were in the middle of music class one afternoon when my bladder told me that it needed to be emptied quickly. I hated to interrupt Sister when she was so engrossed in a lesson but I felt that I had no choice. I raised my hand and calmly asked to be excused but my request was instantly denied. I crossed my legs and hoped for the best but as the minutes ticked by the pain that I felt became almost unbearable. I repeated my request several more times, being refused over and over again even as I began to wiggle in my seat to keep from having an accident. I was on the verge of tears and getting dirtier and dirtier looks from the teacher as I realized that I was not going to be able to hold back for much longer. I made one final attempt to be released to take care of the problem only to receive the same negative response. I was doomed and I felt my bladder slowly but surely ease the pressure as a puddle formed on the seat of my desk. At that moment I was in agony. I wanted to disappear so that I would not have to endure the fate that I knew was coming. I sat rigid hoping against all reasonable hope that nobody would notice what I had done. Of course that was not the way things were going to work.

Soon enough Sister was standing over me demanding to know what had happened. She ordered me into the hallway where she berated me for being absurd enough to wet my pants rather than race out of the room to the bathroom like any rational person would have done. I had no answers for her. I had learned long ago that she never accepted the excuses that any of us gave for our unwanted behaviors. I just stood silently wishing that I might run away and never have to face her or my classmates ever again and urging myself to just breathe lest I let my own tirade escape from my lips. She sent me to the office where I waited for my mother to come with clean clothing and a ride home. I was never able to fully explain to my mom why the incident had occurred. Sister B had already muddied the waters with her own defense and since my mother only knew her as a saintly woman I made no effort to disagree.

When I returned to school the following day my classmates pretended not to have noticed what had happened. I suppose that they all felt as I did that we had to weather the storm of our teacher’s angry behaviors together. Somehow we were bound by the realization that the way she was treating us was very wrong but there was little that we might do other than accept our fate and just breathe. I suspect that I first learned how to be a good teacher in that classroom. I remembered what not to do to students from those days. For that I am thankful to Sister B but I would have preferred not ever knowing her at all.

For a very long time I felt terribly guilty for disliking my teacher, especially since she was a nun, that is until I learned that my brother also found her behavior to be abusive and untenable. When he confessed to me it was like having a heavy weight lifted from my mind. I no longer had to just breathe when I thought of that terrible woman.

My mother corresponded with Sister B until she died, convinced that my old teacher had been a master educator and a saint. It was not until I was almost fifty years old that I shocked my mom with revelations that she found to be painful and difficult to believe. I kept my negative comments mostly to myself. I didn’t want to destroy the icon that my mother thought Sister had been.

I suppose that I developed lovely cursive handwriting under Sister B’s watchful and critical eye. I even mastered the lessons of the fourth grade curriculum with her guidance. More importantly, however, I understood the need to treat children with dignity and respect. I didn’t suffer permanent damage from that school year but I don’t believe that any of us needed to endure the shabby treatment that was inflicted on us. We were resilient but it seems that we never forgot what we had seen. Now I can laugh a bit at the memories of those days but I suppose that I always knew that what we endured was wrong. Thank God I survived by being able to just breathe. 

Things That Make Me Smile

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

smiley-face-symbols-detlev-van-ravenswaayI’ve got a goofy smile. One eye squints almost shut and my mouth is crooked. I resemble a gnome when I’m happy but but I still love any occasion that turns up the corners of my mouth. This month I’ve had a number of such times and all of them have involved people. The truth is that no amount of money nor fame is better than knowing that there are people who really care about me and that I in turn love. I’ve been lucky enough to see many of them of late and all of them make me beam with unadulterated joy.

I try to get together with a group of friends from my last job as often as possible. Most of them are still working so it’s not easy to find a date when we are all free but luckily we did so not long ago. We met up at Ninfa’s on Navigation which, on a side note, I highly recommend. As is always the case we laughed and chattered and felt so very relaxed with one another. A plus was the fact that the food was also great. Someone remarked that most of us were English majors in college. I don’t know if that has anything to do with how well we get along but it’s amazing how in sync we always seem to be. We’ve agreed to meet again before school starts so that we might compare stories about the trips that each of us will be taking during these warm months. I have no doubt that we will once again talk and grin until we get dirty looks from the waiters hoping that we get the hint and move on.

A certain graduation brought a huge smile to my face recently. It was for a young man whom I had tutored for three years. He had worked quite hard to earn his diploma and I knew as well as anyone how much the occasion meant to him. I felt as though I was floating through the air when he walked across the stage. It was as grand a day as I have experienced in a long time. My face must have shown my elation as the corners of my mouth almost touched my ears.

My grandson is home from college for the summer. I only got to see him a couple of times during the school year. He attends Purdue University and has a schedule as busy as the President of the United States. It was so good to finally meet up with him at Bob’s Taco Station if only for an hour or so. I marveled at how much he has matured in only one short year. He is definitely a man now. Not a shred of boyishness seems to remain in his demeanor. A smile of pride and of course lots of love lit up my face the whole time that we were together.

I had the privilege of serving as a chaperone for my godson and his brother while their mother attended a conference a couple of weeks ago. We all flew together to Boston and while she worked, we played. Boy was it fun! I suspect that I was even smiling in my sleep. We saw so many wondrous things but best of all we got to know each other even better. It was a very special time in which we laughed and told silly stories and just felt as comfortable as can be. I can’t wait until I am needed for another trip one day. We built some important memories together which will no doubt always bring brightness to my face whenever I recall them.

My second oldest grandson is going to be a senior in high school next year. He is in the process of visiting colleges and so Mike and I took him to Texas A&M University a week ago. We had a grand time touring the recreation center, the dorms and many of the engineering buildings. I have a particular love for the Aggies because my father was one. Every time I visit the campus I feel his spirit. I know that he will be quite proud if his great grandson decides to get his education there. I smiled quite a bit at the thought of having another Aggie in the family, especially the one who just happens to be named after my dad. When my grandson admitted that he would be quite excited to go there I suspect that my grin was so big that I resembled a Cheshire cat. It was fun to be able to share this important moment with him.

Last Saturday I invited several of my former students to a party at my house. I wanted to celebrate their graduations from college. It was rewarding to hear how wonderfully they are all doing. I want to believe that I may have had at least a tiny bit of influence on them. I know that they bring me incalculable happiness. Knowing that they have already accomplished so much makes my teaching years seem all the more fruitful. I smiled and smiled and smiled as they spoke of their successes and their dreams. I hope that my expression told them how much I love them.

On Father’s Day I made dinner for Mike and his dad. We had an incredible time just as we always do. They are the two most important men in my life. Both of them watch over me and would probably walk through fire for me. Just being with them is reason enough to smile. We have a long history of sharing happiness and sorrow. I burst into a visage of elation when I think of how lucky I have been to be with the two of them. They make me feel so beautiful and important that I fairly beam.

I just spent the past week in a trailer built for two with my daughter and her three children. Stuffing the six of us inside reminded me of a circus act when dozens of clowns go inside a tiny car. For a time the refrigerator didn’t work and all of us were almost eaten alive by chiggers but somehow we muddled through. Nothing could have kept me from beaming from ear to ear. Just being together was all that I needed to feel elated. We went to see movies on a workday afternoon and ate delicious hamburgers and fries from Hopdoddy. We walked through museums filled with scientific wonders and history. In the evenings I watched the children swim at McKInney Falls. They were so delighted as they jumped into the cooling waters. Our time together was a blast and we hardly noticed that we were stuffed inside our home on wheels like sardines.

While we were camping in Austin one of my cousins invited us to visit with her and her family. They treated us to a gourmet dinner that included a taste test of seven different yummy desserts. The kids had great fun playing with Legos and making music while we adults enjoyed sharing stories about our ancestors. There were happy faces all around.

These are the things that make me smile. Right now I’m feeling quite content as I gaze on the flowers in my yard and watch the birds playing in the trees. It’s summertime and the whole world is seems to be alive. Best of all my adventures have only just begun. We’ll be celebrating my mother’s birthday on Monday and in about a week we will head for California. There are so many reasons to be elated that I suspect I am wearing a smile even now.

An Anniversary

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

Ellen and DanielFive years ago my retirement and my mother’s death coincided. It wasn’t supposed to happen that way but life always seems to be full of surprises. Just when I thought that I would be free to give my mom more of my company and attention she left this earth. It was a shocking turn of events and it took me a great deal of time and reflection to finally accept that the timing had been just as it was meant to be. Hers was a faith-filled ending to a life well lived. She fully understood what was happening and was expectantly ready to meet her God.

I suspect that she was tired and worn out from shouldering so much responsibility for so long. At a very young age she had become both mother and father to me and my brothers. She taught me how to cook and sew and played catch with the boys. She had to be our nurse, our disciplinarian, our source of comfort and security. Somehow she found ways to stretch a budget that was so thin that most women would have felt defeated. Instead she teased that she had a secret money tree and we need not ever worry. She bragged that we never missed a meal and that was quite true, but we often ate beans for dinner and learned to enjoy them as much as a juicy steak. She worked during the day and went to college at night, often staying up so late that she existed on very little sleep.

Just when her world appeared to be settling into a normal routine she was stricken with the symptoms of bipolar disorder that would stalk her for the rest of her life. There were times when her illness made it impossible for her to even leave her home. Her emotional pain created physical illnesses that were as real as if she had come down with a disease. Somehow she always fought her way back and began anew. There was never anything easy about her existence and yet she never complained. Instead she counted her blessings with a kind of radiant joy and often spoke of how good God had always been to her. That optimism was with her on the day of her death. She seemed more concerned with comforting her family than dwelling on the end that she knew was certain to come. She pointed to heaven and smiled. She knew that she was going home.

I felt a void in my life for many months after her death. I suspect that I was no more ready to end my career as an educator than I was to accept that she was really gone. I needed something to do each day and I was unable to find anything satisfying. While I fought hard to entertain myself I actually found that having those quiet hours in my home were just the therapy that I needed. I was able to look back on my time with my mother and forgive myself for the things that I should have done for her but never did. I was able to reconcile my thoughts and begin to focus on the positive aspects of my relationship with her. With the help of friends and family I slowly began to heal and adjust to my new life. I found a rhythm that felt comfortable and thoughts of my mother became joyful rather than sad.

Eventually I began to do the things that made me happiest. I went camping with Mike, tutored students who were experiencing difficulties with mathematics and best of all I began to write. I found great solace in my new hobbies, particularly in the exercise of writing the story that my mother and brothers and I had shared. I realized that my mother never truly left us. Her spirit is present in us and our children and grandchildren. I see snatches of her in each person, even those who never got to meet her. I revel in the love that she created and nurtured for all of her life. I feel certain that she is still with us when we party and celebrate. I will always be convinced that she sent my sister-in-law Allison to us, and most especially to my brother Pat. I think of how excited she would have been to know that five more great grandchildren have been born since she left. She so adored babies and would have been delighted beyond measure to see those little tots. I think that she would celebrate in knowing that her grandson Daniel has found a loving partner with whom to spend the rest of his life.

I wonder sometimes if she ever realized how much people loved her. We humans have a bad habit of hiding our emotions when we should share them. It would be so grand if we were to let people know how much they mean to us. The accolades heaped upon her since her death five years ago are too numerous to list. I hope that she is hearing them from her heavenly perch.

My mother is greatly responsible for the person that I have become. She demonstrated how to live by example. She taught me what is most important in this world and it has never been money or power or privilege. People and God were always at the center of her universe and she treasured them every day of her life. If there really is such a thing as saints then my mom most assuredly is among their ranks.

I’m still unable to spend a day accomplishing nothing without feeling strong pangs of guilt. I believe that I should serve a higher purpose at least until my body or mind sideline me. Writing is my favorite pastime but whenever I have the opportunity to help a child with mathematics or any other aspect of academics I feel especially elated. I suspect that I was always meant to be a teacher. My mother was the first to show me how to touch hearts and minds. The natural abilities that I seem to possess came directly from her. Those talents have been the most rewarding gift that I might have ever received.

Time flies when I’m having fun but I suppose that I will never forget that day of five years ago when it became apparent that my mother was going to die. I have played her last hours inside my brain over and over again. With time and distance I have been able to exalt in the glory of her passing. Everyone should be as blessed as she and our family were on that day and every day since.

I expect to spend this day quietly. I’ve got a date to take my eldest grandson out to lunch and I’ll be preparing for an upcoming trip to Boston. Life goes on just as it did after my father died. We grieve and then adjust and learn how to carry on. It is the way of the world. My mother showed me how to walk through the world with grace and optimism. I still miss her from time to time but I feel her spirit in everything that I do.

(Note that the photo included with this essay was taken only one month before my mother died from lung cancer. She always loved to dance. She told me that she felt very dizzy when she danced with her grandson Daniel but he kept her steady and she was quite happy and proud that she had that final spin around the dance floor with him.)