We all have memories about different teachers throughout our years in school.  In high school, course selections were often made because of the teacher, not the actual course itself. There were teachers that EVERYONE wanted because their delivery style was lively and interesting or their class was an “easy A”.   We sometimes made a selection because the teacher had the ability to share course material in a way that it stuck, insuring we would actually learn and retain the subject matter.  Of course, there were teachers that no one wanted because we thought they were too hard, too boring, or too old to relate to us.

Science was “my thing” throughout all my years in school.  In high school I took every science class that my school offered, except physics which I tried but soon dropped.  Something about the trigonometry and laws of motion in physics just didn’t agree with my gray matter, or perhaps I simply didn’t click with the teacher.   But I dug through earth science, dissected my way through biology, memorized my way to an “A” in anatomy and physiology, and excelled in psychology.  And then there was…… chemistry.

There were two chemistry instructors at my high school.  One had probably been there since the periodic table was first written.  Her name was Mrs. Isabel Stephens. She was old, or at least she looked old.  With a teased, bee-hive hairdo, she wore large eyeglasses with a silver chain attached that looped behind her neck so the chain swung back and forth as she moved her head.  A ribbed, button up cardigan hung loosely over her blouse, and her voice was marked with a warm, slow, yet distinct southern drawl.  She looked like the sweet grandmother who would always welcome you with open arms and a hug.

The other chemistry teacher was a living, breathing atomic dynamo.  She was young, dressed like an executive, had beautiful, black hair worn in a modern Farrah Faucett style, and could balance a chemical equation on the chalkboard faster than sodium reacts with water!  Seriously, she could write with BOTH hands at the same time while looking at the classroom, all the while chalk dust filling up the room with a low fog.  She would go through chalk in bulk packs, and would often break the new sticks because she attacked the board with such force.  And she talked just as fast as her chalk sticks screeched across the blackboard.  This was the teacher for me!  I signed up for her class, later questioned my decision to do so, but passed it, barely scraping by with a “C”.

After graduating from high school in 1980, I continued my education, earning a B.S. in Nursing, and started my career as a registered nurse.  When I was blessed with two children, I realized from a perspective not previously seen that education is truly a lifelong process of which classroom learning is only a small part.  Certainly qualified, caring teachers are critical to an education.  But life lessons are not learned by reading a book or listening to a lecture.

When my parents retired, they often traveled with a bus tour company that escorted people on carefully crafted itineraries to sights all over the United States and abroad.  They would often speak of couples they met on various trips, and many toured repeatedly so they became travel friends.  One couple they often spoke of lived in Cary, and their names were Tommie and Isabel Stephens.  After returning home from one journey, Mom asked “Did you have Mrs. Stephens as a teacher?  She used to teach chemistry at Cary High School”.

When my Mom moved to Sunrise Senior Living almost three years ago, one of the first people she saw was Mrs. Stephens.  Despite Mom’s worsening dementia, memories from the past were more vivid than those more recent.  She easily recognized her from the trips they had taken together several years earlier, when health was good for both of them.  Since that time, Isabel’s husband Tommie had passed away.  Like Mom, Isabel also required daily assistance because independent living became unsafe for her, so Sunrise was where she chose to make her home.  She was ambulatory, but years of standing and joint deterioration left her hunched over and requiring a walker for balance and support.

Mom was eager to introduce me to her friend, and from that point on Mrs. Stephens became Miss Isabel to me.

It is heartwarming to see how people’s roles change as they pass through different stages of life.  Mom, a retired nurse, could no longer take care of herself, but she embraced the self-imposed duty to assist Miss Isabel to and from the dining room for every meal.  Miss Isabel in turn was very patient with Mom’s insistence on helping her, even when it was not really required.  She was also tolerant of Mom’s changing moods and often erratic behavior.  Even after Mom was moved to another floor for residents affected with dementia, I regularly visited Miss Isabel.  When I would enter her room, she would always enthusiastically say “Hello!  It is so good to see you.  How have you been?”, and her arms would stretch out for a warm, gentle hug.  She would also ask “how is your Mom doing?”  Often I would share some of the challenges Mom was having, and Miss Isabel would say “I know she can’t help it.  Please tell her I said hello and that I’d love to see her.”

The teacher and the nurse, now both fragile in body but strong in spirit, and continuing to exercise the traits that carried them through their careers.  Though I never had Miss Isabel as a school teacher, I had the privilege of having her as a life teacher for the past two and a half years.  I say this because she taught me during her own adversity of failing health.  She always had a genuine smile, she was never too busy to take time to talk, and she always, always thanked me for coming to see her.

Sometimes in life, we don’t appreciate people for what they can offer or teach us until it is too late.  Thankfully, I had a second chance.  Though I did not choose Mrs. Stephens as a chemistry teacher, I recognize Miss Isabel as a teacher of lessons far more valuable to me.  She taught me to have patience with those who walk a little slower and talk a little softer.  She reinforced to me how important it is to spend a few minutes of time with people you care about, to say “thank you”, and to smile, always smile, for that is a simple gift to give but means so much.

Miss Isabel never had biological children.  But she had thousands of children she instructed, mentored, and taught lessons that reached far beyond the chemistry classroom. Just before she retired from 42 years of teaching, she was quoted as saying:  “The ones I’ve taught, I feel that they are my children. To watch young people grow and mature and develop is one of the most rewarding experiences anyone can have.”  I know this because it was shared in Miss Isabel’s obituary two days ago.

I will be forever grateful that my Dad and I took the time to visit with Miss Isabel last week.  When I saw her lying in bed, her eyes didn’t sparkle like they used to, and her pallor made me know that her time to leave was near. But she still managed a warm, heartfelt smile.  She asked us to sit down and visit a while, and she thanked us for coming to see her when it was time say goodbye.