Jo Ann

Her name was Jo Ann Sachs. She was my mentor teacher when I first started teaching at West Point High School. I was miserable that year. I had to change classrooms 5 times a day. I had overcrowded rooms and some pretty disruptive students who gave me a run for my money. And I had an assistant principal who maintained that "boys will be boys" even if that meant they spit on the floor in the hall. Not a great year. By March I had had it. I told Jo Ann I was quitting and going home. She took me in her room, sat me down, and gave me a good lecture. So I stayed, but only because she convinced me it couldn't get any worse.

That summer I got divorced, and I was so grateful I had a job and so grateful to her for convincing me to stay. The assistant principal moved on, I got my own room, and things did get better.

That was the beginning of a friendship that spanned sixteen years. She was there for me every step of the rocky, bumpy road that has been my life. I'm not complaining. I have a great life, but like everyone else...I have had those times...

Six years ago she came looking for me. She came to my house first, but I wasn't home. Acting
on a hunch, and knowing me as well as she did, she found me at Berkley Bob's having coffee with our other dear friend, Wanda.

"I have breast cancer," she said.

If the road has been bumpy for me, those bumps pale in comparison to what she endured for the
next six years. There was a time we thought she would be okay. We laughed until we cried over the silliest things. We all met for coffee, went junkin together, pretended we really were going to do the crafts we bought all those books for.

Then, it was back with a vengeance. And she started giving me things. A book I said I liked; a Hummel figurine she bought for 25 cents at a yard sale; a big pewter thimble shot glass that says "Just a Thimble Full," a necklace she made just for me (she made all the West Point buddies one), and finally...on a day she could barely walk, she insisted on giving me a beautiful set of old mixing bowls because she knew I loved them. When I protested about her giving me things she would say, "I'm downsizing."

I knew she was going to die. The cancer had ravaged her body. She was so strong, so resolute. She didn't take pain medication until at the very end. She died with dignity.

But I wasn't ready to lose her. Selfishly I wanted her here to ease me over the bumps. We never talked about her dying. Maybe she had that conversation with Pat Tucker or Wanda Hyatt, but not with me. Once I sent her an email telling her how much she meant to me and how much I loved her. She never responded and she never mentioned it. But she loved me and I loved her. We talked about life and fun things...but never about death.

Life is full of changes. This one is painful. I need my friend. I miss her and I would give anything for one last, long, funny, serious talk. I love you Jo Ann. Thank you.