MingerWeb
In Tribute
This story, as you can probably figure out, is dedicated to the dear memory of my Fifth Grade teacher Mrs. Schmit.
Introduction
Sunday 01 September 2002
This is the first in a series of essays I composed for English in the eighth grade. My teacher, Mrs. Bender, required us each to, each quarter, compose at least two essays that she would grade. You may notice some mistakes, and you may notice some technical errors. But these stories are published here, unedited (with the exception of errors that would impede your understanding of the situation), for you reading pleasure, and so that you, my precious readers, will further understand me, my life, and my opinions. I may, in the future, edit these, but, at the moment, I choose not to, because these writings serve as a benchmark to my style and skill. I will annotate and format these writings with comments, acronym and abbreviation hints, and other conventions that I feel will help you read this more easily.
I have used XHTML semantic conventions in editing this composition where necessary. Deletions are struck out, insertions are underlined, and comments are
The year after I composed this essay, a later English teacher of mine, Mrs. Engber, assigned me to create an essay about an event that affected my life and taught me a lesson. I chose to once again write about my Fifth Grade teacher’s ordeal. I have not yet published that essay, but I intend to soon.
In Tribute: An Account of the Memory of Nancy Schmit through the Eyes of a Student
Tuesday 17 October 2000
It was like any other day: we arrived at school, unpacked our belongings, and waited for the morning announcements to come on the intercom system. But one thing caught our attention on that fine, Friday morning: Sister Suzanne, our principal, seemed to be crying while saying the announcements.
Unbeknownst to all of us, something extraordinarily shocking had occurred the night before. Later on that morning, Deacon Jim and our guidance counselor Mrs. Niehaus came to our classroom to announce the terrible news: our fifth grade teacher, Mrs. Nancy Schmit, had passed away.
Shock turned to disbelief turned to mourning and grieving, as Deacon Jim tried his hardest to console us amidst our grave loss.
It was only the middle of the school year, but the then fifth graders had already become very close to here. Nevertheless, they couldn’t have possibly felt more of a loss than us, the sixth graders at the time, who had spent a year with her — the year during which she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer; the year during which she missed months of here time with us to undergo surgery and chemotherapy; the year in which we hoped for all miracles. After all, theirs was a feeling of disappointment, whereas ours was of sadness and grief. This unbearable and truly unfortunate ordeal began, for me, on a Sunday morning, right before our Christmas Break was to end, about one year before her death.
My family and I were attending Mass. As the general intercessions went on, the last petition read, For those in need of your help, especially Mrs. Nancy Schmit…
I knew immediately that something was wrong. I couldn’t get a hold of it, however. The question I repeatedly asked myself after Mass was: Is Mrs. Schmit okay? And what happened to her?
The next morning, us, the fifth graders at the time gathered in the gymnasium, as we always did. Many of the others in our class, who had heard the petition read aloud at Mass, had asked themselves the very same question. One, however, had the answer. After Mass, her mother had asked Father Smith what the petition was all about: Doctors had diagnosed Mrs. Schmit with ovarian cancer and had recently performed surgery on her.
That day, a substitute teacher named Mrs. Tushar came in for Mrs. Schmit. It became apparent that she would be staying for a while.
In the next few weeks, we started to learn more and more about the situation. Apparently, she had been diagnosed with cancer and had undergone surgery on it, which removed about 99 percent of the cancerous cells. She was currently undergoing chemotherapy. Also, Mrs. Tushar was to teach in the afternoon. Mrs. Fraiser was now to take her place in the morning.
About a month or so later, we learned that Mrs. Schmit was to come back to school to teach part-time. Unfortunately, Mrs. Tushar, whom we had become very fond of, was to leave, to be replaced by Mrs. McAllenen, who was also to teach part-time. The news brought out mixed feelings in all of us. The emotion, however, that prevailed was one of hope for the return of normalcy. Mrs. Schmit’s teaching part-time was no reason to fret; for we hadn’t met Mrs. Schmit in person since before Christmas, so we were anxious to meet her again, even if it weren’t for a full school day.
The day Mrs. Schmit came back was one of great anticipation. Our entire class sat on the edge of our seats until the moment when class would begin, and we would meet her again. Given the fact that is was a Monday, we gathered around her rocking chair, as we had used to, to engage in a classroom meeting
, a regular Monday morning installment. Questions about her cancer sprang up in a flurry of interrogation, as the now nearly-to-tears teacher calmed everyone down and started from the beginning. She seemed very emotional (as we all did), due to the fact that she met us for the first time for months. One question, of particular interest to some of the boys in out class, was if she had any hair left. Although she refused to take off her wig, she explained that the chemotherapy had taken away most of her hair. It wasn’t necessary that she did take off her wig, as it was enough to have her in front of us.
From then on, the entire fifth grade made their finest effort to return everything to normal. One of the only differences, however, would be that she would be very particular about having to use tissues when ever anyone sneezed, coughed, or any of the like. She had to be picky about those things, because the chemotherapy, along with taking away her hair, had also taken away many of her white blood cells, so if she were to catch something, it would have been a serious matter.
One thing that we resumed immediately was something called PDR, a class period in which the students were permitted to chose their activity for that day, disbanded, and proceed to the appropriate place. Another project we began was the Great Raisin Investigation
, a series of lessons involving a science investigation about raisins. That was one of the many things that Mrs. Schmit made extremely interesting and entertaining, yet still educational.
About three weeks from the last day of school, Mrs. Schmit announced in class that she, as with any year, would host a math and science camp in her home. Although I was not fortunate enough to be able to attend, many did, and the camp was a considerable success!
On the last day of school, Mrs. Schmit, as an end-of-the-school-year present, presented us bookmarks (she was also our reading teacher) which were autographed with her signature.
The very next time I saw her was on the first day of the next school year. I was relieved to know that she was still in good health when she greeted me at the entrance of our school.
The next few weeksmonths were on and off for Mrs. Schmit, because of the fact that she took weeks at a time off, so that she could get enough rest.
After that, everything was calm and normal. Calm and normal, that is, until the awful day when the news broke. That was the day when all normalcy failed.