I walked into your classroom freshman year of high school, and you were the first person to ever see me. You encouraged me to lean into art, like that time you covered for me to skip class and drive to Raleigh to see Wicked, or to apply to all those programs, scholarships, and college. I may have been smart, but I wasn’t smart enough to see my worth. I never thought my art was good enough, hell that I was good enough, but you proved me wrong. You made me an artist, a leader, a dreamer. You embraced me and cheered me on. You broke through my walls and disarmed me with your love. You brought me into your world and loved me like a daughter, and after, you treated me like a friend. Those were dark times, and you were my guiding light.
I miss our late-night texts, our brunches, and our gallery crawls. Did you know the day you died, I checked my Facebook and got that unfortunate message before taking the class to lunch? It was a stormy day. I taught through teary eyes as my voice cracked, and I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I was ready to go home. But when I walked outside, there was a rainbow in those dark gray skies. I laughed and smiled because only you would make such an artistic statement even after the end. I want you to know you poured so much into me that I, too, became a lighthouse. You are the reason I started teaching and the reason I left. I wanted to do for just one person what you did for me. And I left because you taught me to trust and follow my own guiding light when it’s dark. I will always love you.
Classroom to Corporate 