Remembering Gloria

There is a story I tell a lot to my students, usually at the end of the semester. 

It goes something like this: "I've known I wanted to be a teacher since a few weeks after I graduated college -- with a degree in Journalism. As a new reporter, I was assigned to go and cover a family reading night at a local school for a feature story. The school happened to be my grade school, a building I had not stepped foot in for at least a decade. And what I remember most about walking through the front doors was this overwhelming feeling that came over me that I was walking into a place I was meant to be in. And not even in a literal sense, probably a more metaphorical one. 

But realistically, I recognized that two weeks after graduating college wasn't exactly a great time to be questioning my life's decisions. And while I loved my job working at the newspaper, my dream was to work for a local TV station and that was definitely never going to happen if I changed course then. So I quietly shelved those feelings and tucked them away. 

And over the years, every time I visited a school --  any school -- I would feel that tug again. And to be clear, I never really felt drawn to teach elementary school so the tug wasn't really being all that specific -- there was just something about *teaching* that was calling to me, even if I couldn't figure out exactly what it looked like or how I'd ever really get there."

The part I think I often sadly leave out of this story though, is that night at C.B. Smith School, I ran into Gloria Ranney, who I had known since childhood. She and her husband were good friends with my dad and the kind of people I can't ever remember *not* knowing.  I don't remember specifically, but I probably visited her classroom, maybe I even interviewed her for my story. I do remember talking to her later in the evening and expressing this feeling I was having that maybe I should have gone into teaching all along. And Gloria, who had herself entered teaching a little later in life, assured me that it was of course entirely possible. And I remember believing her. I mean, I knew I *could* do it but she also talked to me about all the reasons she thought I would be a good teacher. Or at least, in my memory that's how it unfolded. What she did was build me up and pour into me in those moments and the confidence she instilled in me that I could (and maybe should) be a teacher was so plentiful that it lasted 20 years and propelled me into a college classroom to teach a class on public speaking without any formal training on how to actually *be a teacher.*

I don't know why I don't talk more about her role in this story because I know it's one most of my students can relate to. Many of them have mentors who have gently and quietly steered them on their paths. Some of them are teachers, but not all of them. I know they would get it.

But somehow, Gloria's unseen role in this story feels appropriate because in so many ways, that was how she lived her life. The tributes that have been written about her in the days she she suddenly left us last week and shared online have been innumerable and for several days, I struggled to figure out how I could possibly contribute anything that hadn't already been said about her. Truthfully, I know this tribute is falling far short of the things that are so heavy on my heart.

Since that family reading night so many years ago, Gloria has remained a constant and steadfast fixture in my life. We attend the same church and I always made it a point to greet her at the end of a service. She always found a way to bring my dad into the conversation. She'd say how he would be so proud of Elisabeth's singing that day, how he would be so proud of the way I've been handling my diagnosis and treatments, how I remind her so much of him and how much she still misses him. She would frequently bring me old newspaper clippings about my dad that she had found and thought I might like to have.

In some ways, there is a part of me that feels like Gloria was single-handedly keeping my dad alive for me. And now, that is gone. 

But losing her is so much more than that. All of the tributes that have been posted seem to share one thing in common -- we all thought we were extra special to Gloria. And that's because that's how she treated everyone. She showed up with unbridled enthusiasm and interest in everyone she encountered and remembered the tiny details about their life - or had a way of asking about the things that were secretly most important to you - without skipping a beat.

And here's a funny thing that happened while I was writing this today. I'm currently teaching a seminar at Bradley called "Do Nothing" and today I told my students to go outside and as they enjoy this amazing weather we're having, take a few moments to journal. I explained that I would be writing this blog that I've been putting off and maybe they could do something along a similar vein.

So we came outside and I sat down on a bench and a student I do not know walked by and said, "hello." And I responded in the polite way one does but that seemed to set off a chain of events I wasn't expecting, as the student said he didn't really have a class to get to right now so could he just sit next to me for a few minutes? And of course I responded that he could, and told him what I was in the middle of doing and that led to him saying, "I don't think I've ever just sat on this bench before."

And in that moment, I realized this was a student I could make a connection with. Not a student already enrolled in one of my classes, just someone I could share a moment with by simply engaging in a bit of kindness. So, we made some small talk. We chatted about how nice it is sometimes to sit and do nothing even in the midst of projects and deadlines that are rapidly approaching. I learned about his major and a big project he has been putting off. He mentioned that he might like to take a class like "Do Nothing" in the future. 

It took me a few moments to absorb the entirety of what was happening. (Just for reference, having a student who does not know me sit down, introduce themselves, and engage me in conversation is really not an everyday occurrence.)

In the middle of trying to find the words to write a tribute befitting of one of the best teachers I've ever known, an opportunity to share a moment with a student happened and I am so glad as I look back now that I chose that first. 

*I wrote this on Monday and Gloria's funeral was today, on Tuesday. In his tribute to her, one of her sons talked about trying to follow Gloria's example by always staying open to the possibility of helping someone even when you least expect it and my mind flashed back to that student yesterday and the conversation we shared. At the time I was trying hard not to read too much into it but now it's hard not to think she had a hand in creating that moment -- what she would call a "God moment" -- and maybe it went something like this: "Hey Shannon - I know that you are trying to find a way to write about me but I'm fine where I am -- just pay attention to the person right in front of you. Right now, give him your attention. You'll be glad you did."

And I am glad I did. May it be the first of many moments where I feel certain I am following in her footsteps.

Moving Day - Writing a new Chapter

(Photo courtesy of Ethan from Day #1 of their trip home)

In November of 1997 at the ages of 23/25, Edgar and I made a cross-country journey to California. It was a quick, whirlwind trip to get Edgar to a new job in Monterey (we left on a Wednesday and I was on a flight out of San Francisco back to Peoria on Sunday.) At the time, I told him we hadn't been dating nearly long enough to pack up my life and follow him across the country but in May of 1998, I ended up doing just that. My lease was up, I had been at my job for a full year, and we were planning to get engaged soon. It felt so brave and bold to take that step at the time and I remember the freedom of the open road and possibility as we (again) made that cross-country trip. This time we had a full week, no real agenda of where to be when, and a cat along for the ride. (My husband is allergic to cats so every cat we have ever owned has been a testament to his love for me. ;) )

So it's easy in a way for me to understand exactly how my oldest son Ethan is feeling today. I've lived it, but in reverse.

Because truthfully, the only regret I ever had about moving back home was that I didn't stay in California long enough to truly close the chapter there. I wish I had better understood the trajectory my life was taking with that decision to move back and had waited just a little bit longer. I had a full-time job opportunity that I passed on (to be fair, for the full-time job opportunity that had been my childhood dream.) And I had a father who was battling cancer with an unknown future. So, we came home for what we thought would be a year or two and here we are still today.

So when Ethan first floated the idea of moving back home, I was (of course) elated. But also, if I'm being honest - a little reticent. Which is so funny of course because to know me is to know that I never really *wanted* Ethan to move to Las Vegas to begin with. Oh sure, I wanted him to leave the nest and spread his wings but would have preferred it had been somewhere within at least driving distance, thankyouverymuch. Side note: I'm still a little bitter about the friends who took him on that UNLV tour and you know who you are. ;) But I always also understood that our childrens' lives are blank pages they must write themselves and not only is it up to us to do everything we can to support their dreams, but we also have to stand in the sidelines and cheer them on -- really cheer them on -- through it all. 

When Ethan was a baby, I stumbled across the idea of attachment parenting. In looking back, I'm pretty sure it happened because I accidentally fell asleep with him on my chest (safely in a bed, don't come at me!) and it was the first actual stretch of sleep I'd had in days and I probably did a quick search to figure out if it was ok/safe and found it was one of the tenets of this (what I thought was) some kind of new parenting style. That led to a rabbit hole (it always does, doesn't it?) that led me to a lot of the practices I ended up adopting as a parent (and some of the best online friends who are definitely real people because I've met most of them IRL) who provided immeasurable support along the way. 

One of the "sales points" was this: if you formed a strong physical and emotional bond with your child as they were growing up, it would sometimes look like dependence (i.e. extended breastfeeding, co-sleeping, etc...) but would ultimately lead to children who were so emotionally secure that they would have no issues at all "launching" into the real world and taking risks because they would always feel there was a safe place for them to come back to if they needed. I used to joke that the proof of our success in this endeavor could be seen in how Ethan had slept in our room (he eventually moved to a couch in there) until he was 10 but then had no trouble at all moving across the country at 18. 

Ethan left for college in the fall of 2019, came home for Spring Break in the spring of 2020 and was in our house when the world closed down for the pandemic. He stayed until we drove him back to Vegas in July and he has not been home since. In his time there he has lived in 3 different places, built an amazing career, met a loving (and lovely!) woman, adopted three (yes, three!) dogs, and fostered and developed a stronger relationship with his grandparents, who have been living in Vegas for ten+ years now. I am so proud of everything he has done in his time there and would never want any of it to have gone any differently. I truly cannot even imagine a different path but I suspect maybe that's just how this parenting gig goes sometimes, if you're lucky. I am really lucky.

I've often heard that our lives are often just comprised of a series of chapters and for Ethan and Caitlin, a new chapter begins today. Together they decided they had squeezed all they could out of their time in Vegas and it's time to forge a new path and to my sheer astonishment, that path is leading them here. They are on the road now and they are coming here. I would say "home" but truthfully, it's currently only "home" for one of them and I am super tuned in to that fact for a number of reasons. First and foremost, I recognize that Caitlin is doing what I did back in 1998 and knowing there is someone who loves your child with that kind of devotion is the most amazing gift. I recognize and admire the bravery she is showing, I know it very well. Next, I have made it my mission (in true over thinker fashion) to ensure I am doing everything possible to make our house feel like a home to her as well, recognizing that it has to be a little bit awkward to move in with your boyfriend's parents after so many years on your own.

I often joke that my life is a series of examples of me getting my way by virtue of simply having patience and just waiting things out. (Exhibit A: Ainsley. ;) ) And in some ways, I could kind of laugh about this being another example of that but I don't really think that's what's happening here at all. I think that what's really happening is another demonstration of how the world really works -- that we are not (ever) the ones really controlling our own destinies because the universe itself is a separate being with its own plan and design and if your choices and decisions align with it accordingly, things will just work out. (This is a philosophy that brings me a lot of personal peace at the expense of my husband's sanity. Seriously, he hates this idea so much - lol!) And yet, here we are.

Of course I'm excited, I think that goes without saying. But mostly, I am just feeling so proud and so peaceful about this new chapter. I wish my dad was here to see it, he'd have lots of things to say about "taproots" and "roots and wings" and probably even a joke or two about the "prodigal son." My mom is already looking forward to some rounds of golf and computer help from Ethan. Ainsley is bracing for the impact of losing her "only kid in the house" status and figuring out how to have Ethan around again for the first time since she was 9. 

Edgar and I are both so proud that our son is bold and brave enough to leave behind a successful life in search of a more personally fulfilling one and working on embracing the uncertainty that comes along with this choice while also recognizing that maybe, just maybe we can give ourselves a small little pat on the back for being the kind of home base we all need in our lives. The rest will sort itself out.