| Biographical Non-Fiction posted May 20, 2017 |
  |
Biographical essay of a gift given but never received...
Anna's Gift
by Mrs. KT
I remember a young girl.
I remember a dreaded diagnosis.
I remember a young teacher desperate to bring joy to the young girl.
I remember a small brown stuffed teddy bear given, but never received.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Thirty years ago, it was my privilege to teach 7th and 8th graders English and social studies at a private school in the Grand Traverse region.
One of my female 7th grade students was stricken with a malignant brain tumor that year.
However, Anna fought long and hard to live her life to its fullest, and although she was gravely ill for most of that autumn of 1986, she came to school when she was able.
The week before Christmas break, she, along with her fellow classmates and teachers, was to attend a Christmas luncheon at the Grand Traverse Resort. All of us were looking forward to this special occasion as this luncheon was far outside the realm of our everyday routine.
Sadly, Anna passed away the evening before our scheduled luncheon.
My sadness was overwhelming. I was a young mother myself, and I was expecting our second child. I attempted to make sense of Anna's passing, but it was useless; I had no answers.
What I did possess, however, was a stuffed brown teddy bear that I had purchased especially for Anna to give to her on the day of our luncheon.
Weeks earlier, the bear had immediately caught my attention as I was making my way through one of my favorite Traverse City department stores.
This was no ordinary teddy bear: it sported a hand knitted Christmas sweater complete with a Christmas goose embroidered on its front, and I knew Anna would love it.
I had purchased the bear for Anna.
The bear was meant for Anna.
Anna was now gone, but what to do about the bear?
The answer came to me as I was wrapping Christmas presents. I would give the bear to Anna's mother - with a note attached to the bear's sweater - sharing with her that someday I just knew one of her two sons, whom I had never met, would bless her with a grandchild that would enjoy and love the little bear. In the note, I suggested that she give the bear to one of her grandchildren - never really knowing if that would be the case or not.
Anna's mother was not home the day I drove over to present her with Anna's gift. And so, I gave it to the housekeeper who answered the door, and I drove away hopeful that my small gift would be welcomed and treasured and help to ease a mother's grief.
I never heard back from Anna's mother. But all these years, when I thought of Anna, I hoped that perhaps her mother might have saved the teddy bear, and it was being loved and cherished by another little girl or boy.
Twenty years passed by, and I was hired to teach English and sociology at the public high school on the west side of Traverse City. That first day, as I studied the roster bearing the names of my fellow colleagues, I recognized the name of one of Anna's brothers.
Eventually, I made my way to this young man's classroom and introduced myself. I shared with him that I had taught Anna, and that I had never forgotten her.
It was evident to me that Anna's death had deeply affected her brother and that the passing years had done little to ease his pain.
But I didn't mention the teddy bear.
Our acquaintance grew, and Anna's brother and I became friends. Compounding that friendship was the equally close friendship I developed with his wife, who also taught in the same building with us.
Over the next ten years, I watched with joy as these two wonderful individuals became engaged, married, and welcomed the arrival of two boys and a baby girl who they named after Anna.
Last June, I retired from teaching. But just this past week, I was called upon to be a guest teacher at the high school for a former colleague who had experienced a medical emergency. I readily agreed to do so although I hadn't planned on substitute teaching once I turned in my keys.
As I made my way through the maze of jostling teenagers last Friday, I heard a familiar voice call my name.
I turned, and there before me was Anna's brother.
We hugged one another and exchanged pleasantries. I asked him how his year was going, and he replied that it had been stressful and more hectic than usual.
I was just about to turn and head to my next class when Anna's brother quietly said, "I've been so busy this year. I never had a chance to tell you, but we found the teddy bear you gave to Anna all those many years ago, Diane."
Startled by the content of his words, and hoping that whatever came out of my mouth was meaningful, I began to stammer, when he continued, "We were cleaning out my mother's home. And we found a cupboard that was filled with papers and mementos that belonged to Anna. None of us had ever opened the cupboard all these years, and we had no idea what was inside. But there, in the middle of everything was a stuffed teddy bear with your hand-written note pinned to its sweater. We found it nearly thirty years to the day that Anna passed away. You have no idea how your simple gift has given us so much peace."
Finally, I found my voice, and I replied, "All that time he was waiting for you to find him."
Anna's brother shook his head in agreement, and then he added, "We've given him to our little girl. Just as you had hoped."
"Anna would have loved that, of that I am sure," I somehow managed to reply.
"My mother never told us what you had done, Diane. But it means the world to us."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I have lived long enough and hard enough to know that some things we experience on this journey simply cannot be explained, and other things are just too painful to even attempt to comprehend:
Why was I chosen to be Anna's teacher?
Why did Anna's mother never mention the teddy bear to her other children?
Why did she choose to store it away in a cupboard that was never used?
Why did I become friends with Anna's brother and sister-in-law?
Why did Anna's brother find the teddy bear nearly thirty years to the day after Anna
passed away?
I have no answers.
But this much I know to be true:
I remember a young girl.
I remember a dreaded diagnosis.
I remember a young teacher desperate to bring joy to the young girl.
I remember a small brown stuffed teddy bear given, but never received, safely tucked away for thirty years, and finally found ready to be cherished and loved by another little girl.
Anna will always be remembered in the hearts and minds of those who knew and loved her. So too will she be remembered in the hearts and minds of those who may come to know that some endings are really only beginnings just waiting to be found...
Story of the Month contest entry
I remember a young girl.
I remember a dreaded diagnosis.
I remember a young teacher desperate to bring joy to the young girl.
I remember a small brown stuffed teddy bear given, but never received.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Thirty years ago, it was my privilege to teach 7th and 8th graders English and social studies at a private school in the Grand Traverse region.
One of my female 7th grade students was stricken with a malignant brain tumor that year.
However, Anna fought long and hard to live her life to its fullest, and although she was gravely ill for most of that autumn of 1986, she came to school when she was able.
The week before Christmas break, she, along with her fellow classmates and teachers, was to attend a Christmas luncheon at the Grand Traverse Resort. All of us were looking forward to this special occasion as this luncheon was far outside the realm of our everyday routine.
Sadly, Anna passed away the evening before our scheduled luncheon.
My sadness was overwhelming. I was a young mother myself, and I was expecting our second child. I attempted to make sense of Anna's passing, but it was useless; I had no answers.
What I did possess, however, was a stuffed brown teddy bear that I had purchased especially for Anna to give to her on the day of our luncheon.
Weeks earlier, the bear had immediately caught my attention as I was making my way through one of my favorite Traverse City department stores.
This was no ordinary teddy bear: it sported a hand knitted Christmas sweater complete with a Christmas goose embroidered on its front, and I knew Anna would love it.
I had purchased the bear for Anna.
The bear was meant for Anna.
Anna was now gone, but what to do about the bear?
The answer came to me as I was wrapping Christmas presents. I would give the bear to Anna's mother - with a note attached to the bear's sweater - sharing with her that someday I just knew one of her two sons, whom I had never met, would bless her with a grandchild that would enjoy and love the little bear. In the note, I suggested that she give the bear to one of her grandchildren - never really knowing if that would be the case or not.
Anna's mother was not home the day I drove over to present her with Anna's gift. And so, I gave it to the housekeeper who answered the door, and I drove away hopeful that my small gift would be welcomed and treasured and help to ease a mother's grief.
I never heard back from Anna's mother. But all these years, when I thought of Anna, I hoped that perhaps her mother might have saved the teddy bear, and it was being loved and cherished by another little girl or boy.
Twenty years passed by, and I was hired to teach English and sociology at the public high school on the west side of Traverse City. That first day, as I studied the roster bearing the names of my fellow colleagues, I recognized the name of one of Anna's brothers.
Eventually, I made my way to this young man's classroom and introduced myself. I shared with him that I had taught Anna, and that I had never forgotten her.
It was evident to me that Anna's death had deeply affected her brother and that the passing years had done little to ease his pain.
But I didn't mention the teddy bear.
Our acquaintance grew, and Anna's brother and I became friends. Compounding that friendship was the equally close friendship I developed with his wife, who also taught in the same building with us.
Over the next ten years, I watched with joy as these two wonderful individuals became engaged, married, and welcomed the arrival of two boys and a baby girl who they named after Anna.
Last June, I retired from teaching. But just this past week, I was called upon to be a guest teacher at the high school for a former colleague who had experienced a medical emergency. I readily agreed to do so although I hadn't planned on substitute teaching once I turned in my keys.
As I made my way through the maze of jostling teenagers last Friday, I heard a familiar voice call my name.
I turned, and there before me was Anna's brother.
We hugged one another and exchanged pleasantries. I asked him how his year was going, and he replied that it had been stressful and more hectic than usual.
I was just about to turn and head to my next class when Anna's brother quietly said, "I've been so busy this year. I never had a chance to tell you, but we found the teddy bear you gave to Anna all those many years ago, Diane."
Startled by the content of his words, and hoping that whatever came out of my mouth was meaningful, I began to stammer, when he continued, "We were cleaning out my mother's home. And we found a cupboard that was filled with papers and mementos that belonged to Anna. None of us had ever opened the cupboard all these years, and we had no idea what was inside. But there, in the middle of everything was a stuffed teddy bear with your hand-written note pinned to its sweater. We found it nearly thirty years to the day that Anna passed away. You have no idea how your simple gift has given us so much peace."
Finally, I found my voice, and I replied, "All that time he was waiting for you to find him."
Anna's brother shook his head in agreement, and then he added, "We've given him to our little girl. Just as you had hoped."
"Anna would have loved that, of that I am sure," I somehow managed to reply.
"My mother never told us what you had done, Diane. But it means the world to us."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I have lived long enough and hard enough to know that some things we experience on this journey simply cannot be explained, and other things are just too painful to even attempt to comprehend:
Why was I chosen to be Anna's teacher?
Why did Anna's mother never mention the teddy bear to her other children?
Why did she choose to store it away in a cupboard that was never used?
Why did I become friends with Anna's brother and sister-in-law?
Why did Anna's brother find the teddy bear nearly thirty years to the day after Anna
passed away?
I have no answers.
But this much I know to be true:
I remember a young girl.
I remember a dreaded diagnosis.
I remember a young teacher desperate to bring joy to the young girl.
I remember a small brown stuffed teddy bear given, but never received, safely tucked away for thirty years, and finally found ready to be cherished and loved by another little girl.
Anna will always be remembered in the hearts and minds of those who knew and loved her. So too will she be remembered in the hearts and minds of those who may come to know that some endings are really only beginnings just waiting to be found...
I remember a dreaded diagnosis.
I remember a young teacher desperate to bring joy to the young girl.
I remember a small brown stuffed teddy bear given, but never received.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Thirty years ago, it was my privilege to teach 7th and 8th graders English and social studies at a private school in the Grand Traverse region.
One of my female 7th grade students was stricken with a malignant brain tumor that year.
However, Anna fought long and hard to live her life to its fullest, and although she was gravely ill for most of that autumn of 1986, she came to school when she was able.
The week before Christmas break, she, along with her fellow classmates and teachers, was to attend a Christmas luncheon at the Grand Traverse Resort. All of us were looking forward to this special occasion as this luncheon was far outside the realm of our everyday routine.
Sadly, Anna passed away the evening before our scheduled luncheon.
My sadness was overwhelming. I was a young mother myself, and I was expecting our second child. I attempted to make sense of Anna's passing, but it was useless; I had no answers.
What I did possess, however, was a stuffed brown teddy bear that I had purchased especially for Anna to give to her on the day of our luncheon.
Weeks earlier, the bear had immediately caught my attention as I was making my way through one of my favorite Traverse City department stores.
This was no ordinary teddy bear: it sported a hand knitted Christmas sweater complete with a Christmas goose embroidered on its front, and I knew Anna would love it.
I had purchased the bear for Anna.
The bear was meant for Anna.
Anna was now gone, but what to do about the bear?
The answer came to me as I was wrapping Christmas presents. I would give the bear to Anna's mother - with a note attached to the bear's sweater - sharing with her that someday I just knew one of her two sons, whom I had never met, would bless her with a grandchild that would enjoy and love the little bear. In the note, I suggested that she give the bear to one of her grandchildren - never really knowing if that would be the case or not.
Anna's mother was not home the day I drove over to present her with Anna's gift. And so, I gave it to the housekeeper who answered the door, and I drove away hopeful that my small gift would be welcomed and treasured and help to ease a mother's grief.
I never heard back from Anna's mother. But all these years, when I thought of Anna, I hoped that perhaps her mother might have saved the teddy bear, and it was being loved and cherished by another little girl or boy.
Twenty years passed by, and I was hired to teach English and sociology at the public high school on the west side of Traverse City. That first day, as I studied the roster bearing the names of my fellow colleagues, I recognized the name of one of Anna's brothers.
Eventually, I made my way to this young man's classroom and introduced myself. I shared with him that I had taught Anna, and that I had never forgotten her.
It was evident to me that Anna's death had deeply affected her brother and that the passing years had done little to ease his pain.
But I didn't mention the teddy bear.
Our acquaintance grew, and Anna's brother and I became friends. Compounding that friendship was the equally close friendship I developed with his wife, who also taught in the same building with us.
Over the next ten years, I watched with joy as these two wonderful individuals became engaged, married, and welcomed the arrival of two boys and a baby girl who they named after Anna.
Last June, I retired from teaching. But just this past week, I was called upon to be a guest teacher at the high school for a former colleague who had experienced a medical emergency. I readily agreed to do so although I hadn't planned on substitute teaching once I turned in my keys.
As I made my way through the maze of jostling teenagers last Friday, I heard a familiar voice call my name.
I turned, and there before me was Anna's brother.
We hugged one another and exchanged pleasantries. I asked him how his year was going, and he replied that it had been stressful and more hectic than usual.
I was just about to turn and head to my next class when Anna's brother quietly said, "I've been so busy this year. I never had a chance to tell you, but we found the teddy bear you gave to Anna all those many years ago, Diane."
Startled by the content of his words, and hoping that whatever came out of my mouth was meaningful, I began to stammer, when he continued, "We were cleaning out my mother's home. And we found a cupboard that was filled with papers and mementos that belonged to Anna. None of us had ever opened the cupboard all these years, and we had no idea what was inside. But there, in the middle of everything was a stuffed teddy bear with your hand-written note pinned to its sweater. We found it nearly thirty years to the day that Anna passed away. You have no idea how your simple gift has given us so much peace."
Finally, I found my voice, and I replied, "All that time he was waiting for you to find him."
Anna's brother shook his head in agreement, and then he added, "We've given him to our little girl. Just as you had hoped."
"Anna would have loved that, of that I am sure," I somehow managed to reply.
"My mother never told us what you had done, Diane. But it means the world to us."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I have lived long enough and hard enough to know that some things we experience on this journey simply cannot be explained, and other things are just too painful to even attempt to comprehend:
Why was I chosen to be Anna's teacher?
Why did Anna's mother never mention the teddy bear to her other children?
Why did she choose to store it away in a cupboard that was never used?
Why did I become friends with Anna's brother and sister-in-law?
Why did Anna's brother find the teddy bear nearly thirty years to the day after Anna
passed away?
I have no answers.
But this much I know to be true:
I remember a young girl.
I remember a dreaded diagnosis.
I remember a young teacher desperate to bring joy to the young girl.
I remember a small brown stuffed teddy bear given, but never received, safely tucked away for thirty years, and finally found ready to be cherished and loved by another little girl.
Anna will always be remembered in the hearts and minds of those who knew and loved her. So too will she be remembered in the hearts and minds of those who may come to know that some endings are really only beginnings just waiting to be found...
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