Earlier this week, as I was packaging up boxes to be mailed out for ebay sales, I was listening to the news. That is how I got the ...shocking, for lack of better word, news that a woman I know, a friend, a mentor, a teacher, had been brutally murdered--about 6 months ago. The man she was living with had doused her in gasoline, set her on fire, and then set himself on fire. She died three days later. He survived, and is only now "well enough" to be arraigned for the murder.
I heard the name. I heard Boston. I heard Warren. Her full name--Evelyn Spodnik. My head picked up, a question or maybe a connection forming. Then I heard "reading teacher" and "Holderness Elementary School," and a strangled scream escaped my mouth, scaring my daughter.
To me, she was Evie. She was the hippie reading teacher who always had a smile on her face. I was in my final semester of college, my student teaching semester--the toughest semester of all. As a single mother in college, I had worked hard to get there. That semester, everything that could go wrong, just seemed to. I was living off my savings at that point (and there wasn't much), because there was no way I could work AND student teach, so when my car broke down and had to go into the shop, it was catastrophic. Evie had a hug for me and reassured me that she would pick me up and drop me off while my car was in the shop. And she did. In her little car, she showed up at my apartment with a smile and chattered away the rest of the drive to school. Christmas came along shortly after that, and Evie presented me with a bag of gifts for my daughter from "Santa." In the teacher's lounge, Evie always asked how my lessons were going, asked if I needed any help, and would listen to my successes, and commiserate with me on my failures, which some days felt so much bigger than my successes.
Evie taught me some important things... See, she was the reading specialist. She worked a lot with the kids who needed extra help in reading. She worked with them one on one, or in small groups. But the kids never, ever seemed to feel isolated, or feel like they were "stupid." No, these kids felt special, and were so excited to go see Ms. Spodnik! They did fun stuff with her, special stuff. And they learned. And they were proud of themselves.
But Evie also spent time with some of the most advanced kids. She said to me once, and I will never, ever, forget this: "You see, Laura, you teach to the middle of the class. That is where most of the kids are. Then there are the children that you worry about, and there are specialists that you call in to help those kids. And then there's that upper crust of kids, the really advanced ones, that you just don't even think about or worry about, because they just get it. It's just how it happens--the way the system works, and as a classroom teacher, there's really no way around that every day. But they need some special focus, too. I try to make that my job when I can."
On my way to see my doctors this morning we drove past a burned down house in Canaan. It threw me off. My whole visit with my talk therapy revolved around Evie this morning. How something like that could happen. How I can't get the nightmarish images out of my head. I just keep going back to it. What it must have been like--what she must have felt, thought... the fear, the panic, the pain, everything. That it took three whole days for her to die. How I hoped she had somehow escaped her body during those days. How I didn't get to say goodbye. How I didn't even KNOW until 6 months after the fact. Trying to remember the last time I saw her--wasn't it in the grocery store, where she remarked how big Athena had gotten and how handsome Nolyn was? Wondering how I could memorialize her, say goodbye, get my closure. I suppose I will memorialize her by never forgetting those words of wisdom. By never forgetting her kind heart, her smile.
Oh, Evie... I am sad that this world doesn't have that happy, kind-hearted hippie in it anymore. I am sad that no more children will have you to help them with their reading. I am sad that I will never run into you again and have an on-the-fly chat, and those always there "let's get together sometime" that never came... because sometime would always be there, wouldn't it. But it wasn't. I am sad that your faith in humankind was your undoing.
I am happy that I knew you, Evie. I am so happy that you were there to guide me in my learning. I am happy that Athena met you, and remembers you. I am happy that you passed on some of your hard-earned wisdom. I am happy that you lived with kindness and faith in the best in humankind right up until the end. Rest in peace, my friend, and know that you made a difference in this world.
I heard the name. I heard Boston. I heard Warren. Her full name--Evelyn Spodnik. My head picked up, a question or maybe a connection forming. Then I heard "reading teacher" and "Holderness Elementary School," and a strangled scream escaped my mouth, scaring my daughter.
To me, she was Evie. She was the hippie reading teacher who always had a smile on her face. I was in my final semester of college, my student teaching semester--the toughest semester of all. As a single mother in college, I had worked hard to get there. That semester, everything that could go wrong, just seemed to. I was living off my savings at that point (and there wasn't much), because there was no way I could work AND student teach, so when my car broke down and had to go into the shop, it was catastrophic. Evie had a hug for me and reassured me that she would pick me up and drop me off while my car was in the shop. And she did. In her little car, she showed up at my apartment with a smile and chattered away the rest of the drive to school. Christmas came along shortly after that, and Evie presented me with a bag of gifts for my daughter from "Santa." In the teacher's lounge, Evie always asked how my lessons were going, asked if I needed any help, and would listen to my successes, and commiserate with me on my failures, which some days felt so much bigger than my successes.
Evie taught me some important things... See, she was the reading specialist. She worked a lot with the kids who needed extra help in reading. She worked with them one on one, or in small groups. But the kids never, ever seemed to feel isolated, or feel like they were "stupid." No, these kids felt special, and were so excited to go see Ms. Spodnik! They did fun stuff with her, special stuff. And they learned. And they were proud of themselves.
But Evie also spent time with some of the most advanced kids. She said to me once, and I will never, ever, forget this: "You see, Laura, you teach to the middle of the class. That is where most of the kids are. Then there are the children that you worry about, and there are specialists that you call in to help those kids. And then there's that upper crust of kids, the really advanced ones, that you just don't even think about or worry about, because they just get it. It's just how it happens--the way the system works, and as a classroom teacher, there's really no way around that every day. But they need some special focus, too. I try to make that my job when I can."
On my way to see my doctors this morning we drove past a burned down house in Canaan. It threw me off. My whole visit with my talk therapy revolved around Evie this morning. How something like that could happen. How I can't get the nightmarish images out of my head. I just keep going back to it. What it must have been like--what she must have felt, thought... the fear, the panic, the pain, everything. That it took three whole days for her to die. How I hoped she had somehow escaped her body during those days. How I didn't get to say goodbye. How I didn't even KNOW until 6 months after the fact. Trying to remember the last time I saw her--wasn't it in the grocery store, where she remarked how big Athena had gotten and how handsome Nolyn was? Wondering how I could memorialize her, say goodbye, get my closure. I suppose I will memorialize her by never forgetting those words of wisdom. By never forgetting her kind heart, her smile.
Oh, Evie... I am sad that this world doesn't have that happy, kind-hearted hippie in it anymore. I am sad that no more children will have you to help them with their reading. I am sad that I will never run into you again and have an on-the-fly chat, and those always there "let's get together sometime" that never came... because sometime would always be there, wouldn't it. But it wasn't. I am sad that your faith in humankind was your undoing.
I am happy that I knew you, Evie. I am so happy that you were there to guide me in my learning. I am happy that Athena met you, and remembers you. I am happy that you passed on some of your hard-earned wisdom. I am happy that you lived with kindness and faith in the best in humankind right up until the end. Rest in peace, my friend, and know that you made a difference in this world.
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