I’m not sure the night could have been more perfect. Picnics spread across the land and children running free. So many children. A great opening act. I do love a great opening act. While waiting for Brandi to come on, I received a message that a woman our family knew had passed away. We knew she was sick and that she had been in hospice for a few weeks, but there is still that moment of disbelief when you hear the news. I really adored her. I tend to adore people who possess their own kind of brilliance so pure and other worldly that more often than not, they find themselves deeply misunderstood and at times, criticized. I worked closely with Grace for a couple of years and in that time, by watching and learning from her, came to appreciate children between the ages of 3-6 as the coolest, most perfect beings of our species. They are old enough to take on meaningful tasks in life, and (selfishly, for me) are also capable of having the most interesting conversations; yet 3-6 is still young enough where life is infused with a sense of wonder and curiosity that has yet to diminish, as can too often happen when we grow older. The irony of Grace teaching me by example to appreciate the beautiful and unlimited nuances of this age group, is that any criticism toward her involved some people feeling she did not “get” the needs of children, or give them enough. That she did not encourage their “full academic potential.” But what those people did not understand is that Grace humbly knew her true work was to encourage each child’s full human potential. Because at this young age, we need human potential a heck of a lot more than we need workbook pages or reading readiness upon entry to first grade. This is a hard thing for parents to put their faith in. It goes against the high-pressure mindset of our Race to the Top culture and is not an easy place to parent from. Of course, Grace’s soft-spoken teachings did not go against the Montessori principles we adhered to; in fact, she was right in step.
Grace amazed me with her ability to show up day after day for the children she believed in, while facing what I felt was more than her fair share of adversity from adults. It is worth noting that even in the face of negativity, not once did I hear Grace counter with her own gossip or speak poorly of another person; that is not who she was. Yes, there were times she needed to offer up a few words in defense of her being, or if something was not in the best interest of a child, but those words were always carefully chosen and kept to a minimum. There is a lot to learn from someone like Grace.
She was an intensely private person and I remember this one time, during a staff development day, she had been tasked with sharing an element of her life with fellow coworkers so that we could glean insight into her non-work persona (such is the nature of staff development days, we all had our turn). I remember leading up to the meeting I felt worried for Grace, knowing that no matter what she shared, it was going to be from a place of incredible vulnerability. If she was nervous, she did not let on, for that too would have been personal and revealing. When the day came, we were all gathered in the main meeting room and it was nearly time for Grace's share. For the most part, during each of the prior staff days in which one of us shared, it usually took place within the main meeting room – a family genealogy scrapbook, travel photos, musical instruments, etc. But Grace excused herself to set things up in her classroom, which sat empty as school was not in session that day. She disappeared for about 10 minutes or so, then came back to the group and said very few words, just something about loving to take photos, and even more so, loving to blow those photos up "really big," and that we were invited to take a look if we'd like. We all wandered into her classroom and what appeared before us, hung at every imaginable level, from every imaginable surface throughout the classroom, was Grace's world. She quietly stood aside, hands gently crossed in front of her body, with a look on her face that could only be described as trust. The rest of us moved slowly around the room and took in everything that Grace held dear: her horse, her gardens, her partner Cecille, and so much more. These photos were posters, really. Huge. The light she captured was warm and soft… romantic. Their size allowed you to step inside. Every image was brilliant, pure, and other worldly, just like their maker. I remember feeling really happy for Grace in that moment.
It goes against the norm to discuss the harder aspects of a person’s life upon their passing, but anyone who knew Grace knew this was her reality. Then and now, the challenges she faced angered me and felt unfair. Grace was a gifted educator whose unique talent did not always fit into the workings of this world, but those of us who “got her” really got her, and are better people for it. Was Grace perfect? No. Did she have quirks? Sure. (If you’ve got ten hours I can list a few thousand of my own.) Grace lived a life that was perfectly human, and her greatest work while earthside was to guide young children in doing the same.
After reading the message of Grace's passing, I put my phone down and glanced up to see this young babe before me. Look at him sitting so independently beside his mother, bathed in soft, glowing light that I can't help but notice is reminescent of Grace's photographs. I watched as he soaked in the warmth of perhaps his first summer evening, his bald little head protected from the setting sun by a handsome straw hat. I marveled at his humanness, his wonder, his curiosity. And I knew if Grace had been there, she would have too. Now that I think about it, I guess that would have made the night more perfect.
Yeah, Grace being there would have been pretty sweet.