An Embroidered Pocket: Sue Dickens

Tears have been flowing intermittently down my cheeks now for 12 hours or so. I found out last night that one of Annie Beth's favorite teachers died yesterday. As I write this I have no details about the circumstances. The specifics matter, of course; but, for what my heart feels it wouldn't make any difference. The truth is that I didn't know a lot about her daily life beyond school anyway.  The intersection of my life with hers, though is forever sealed in my heart.

I cry because I will never get to hug her again or read on Facebook about how much she's enjoying her 8:00 AM cup of coffee at her kitchen table during her retirement. She's outside of my earthly touch.

I have written some of these very words directly to her on many occasions. I'm so grateful that I lavishly appreciated her with words and gifts. She was a humble person and would have been slightly embarrassed by the attention she would receive from public applause. To honor her memory and encourage all of us to love well, I offer my words today.

There is a pocket in my heart that has Sue Dicken's name embroidered on it. This story is really not about me and my daughter. It's about Sue and the community in which I knew her, Highland Village Elementary. To fully appreciate why my Sue pocket is still tender and so important, my story is necessary.

I was the copy mom for the entire group of first grade teachers in 2009 when I filed for divorce in late April. I spent two afternoons a week at the school helping these marvelous women. (I also have pockets in my heart for Emily Heitzmann, Stahr Freedle, Donna Bailey, and Shana Murphy.) I spoke privately with Emily, Annie Beth's primary teacher. In addition, I met with the Principal, Sherry Wagner and the Vice Principal, Karen Wright.--both equally precious and amazing women. Annie Beth referred to them as The President and Vice President of the school. I never corrected her because I loved hearing it so much. I knew she'd eventually figure it out and those terms would be lost forever.

Karen's daughter Audrey and my daughter were special friends. Karen knew that Annie Beth needed just the right teacher for second grade. Karen was moving to Seattle before the next school year; but, through her own tears, shed for me, she assured me that they would carefully place her with the best suited teacher. Karen had taught fourth grade with Sue and knew her well--considered Sue a mentor and model teacher. Karen told me that Sue's loving, patient, and gentle spirit would be a perfect fit.

Just before school started, in order for me not to share a residence with my husband and still maintain joint custody, we agreed to nest. Nesting is legal jargon for this: the child lives in the house. The parents move in and out of the house on alternating weeks. I was a stay at home Mom stripped of my job every other week. The only time I could see Annie Beth on alternate weeks was at lunch on school days. We Skyped most nights after she returned from her sitter's house around 10:00 PM. (I write this with intention. Her bedtime was 9:00. I started the bedtime routine at 8:30 each night.) Important to note as well, my child has never been a cheerful morning person. She also had decided in first grade that she wanted long, beautiful hair like Audrey. Did I mention that Annie Beth is/was not a fan of brushing her hair? She is tender-headed and not afraid to loudly express her displeasure.

Sue Dickens was more than a teacher to my child. Sue partnered with me and loved Annie Beth as an extension of her family. She also nurtured us so tenderly and gently by allowing Annie Beth to come into the copy room each week for a few minutes so I could have one more chance to touch her.

Sue loved me through hugs. Lots of hugs. Very few words. Tears and hugs. My journal overflows with daily examples of how she loved us well during a turbulent time. During that year she also further instilled a love for words and writing within Annie Beth.

All this for one child and her family, in a class of 20. There is no doubt that our story is not dissimilar from so many others--years of classrooms full of children.

Tears flow anytime I think about this particular day. Annie Beth rarely called in the mornings before school. That day, I answered to hear a sobbing, sleep-deprived child begging not to go to school. The more I tried to be loving and logical, the more irrational she became. I was able to finally piece together that her hair was in such a rat's nest that she was embarrassed to go to school. Days of neglect will do that. I suggested that she put on a hat and go to school. That's all I could do. I emailed Sue to warn her.

That day when the other children were out of the classroom, Sue got a brush and tried her very best to gently and lovingly detangle my child's hair. I'll never forget her laughter, eyes crinkled together when she told me, "Lori, I had boys! I've never done girl hair! I tried, though."

That's the day her name became embroidered in my heart pocket. It was painful then. The needle pricking flesh of how my life's decision circumstances translated into pain within other people's lives. My mind's eye sees the threads as Annie Beth's hair plucked from the bristles of Sue's brush or ones from the square tiles of the classroom floor. They form a brown background and over the years those yellow highlights have turned more golden. Yesterday those strands were transformed into 24 carat gold. I believe with all my heart that one day when Sue and I are reunited face to face, I will give her these strands of perfect gold from my heart. She will in turn give them to our loving Heavenly Father. He will hug her and say, "Well done, my good and faithful servant."