by Miranda Hawkins
It was Miss Henson who first attracted me to the teaching profession and made me want to work with kids, she just seemed so at home with us, it made me want to be the same way. I even started practicing at home on my younger brother and sister, practically forcing them to sit in my homemade ‘classroom' and listen to me talk about why butterflies had wings and other such nonsense. When I got older and was forced by my English teachers to write ‘role model papers' they were always about Miss Henson and the way she touched my life. Ironically, almost twelve years later she changed my life again, although not in a way I would have ever expected. Nevertheless, it affected me so greatly that I was forced to just stop in my tracks and evaluate whether or not my life was going the way I wanted it to.
While attending college to get my teaching degree I ran into one of my old elementary teachers, Mrs. Jennings. She was surprised at my choice of profession because I'd always had an inclination toward art, and asked me why I'd decided to become a school teacher. I willingly told her my story about Miss Henson, and almost automatically noticed a change come over my old teacher's face. Pausing, I asked her if something was wrong. Mrs. Jennings nodded and very slowly told me that Miss Henson had committed suicide. I didn't know what to say at first. Why would she have any reason to kill herself? Still in shock, I asked when it had happened. This surprised my teacher and she told me I should remember because I was in Miss Henson's class at the time.
Slowly, after Mrs. Jennings had left and as the day went on, my memory came back to me in bits and pieces. And even though I could remember everything about the days preceding Miss Henson's death I could never find a reason for it. I could also never understand why the principal opted to lie to my class and tell us that Miss Henson was ‘on vacation.' Society is funny about things like that. They don't seem to realize that sometimes it's crueler to lie to a child than it is to tell the truth, even if they won't completely understand.
After my tragic discovery I decided not to become a teacher. It seemed to me it wasn't enough to teach children their ABC's and 123's, I wanted to help them in other ways, too. So my degree plan has changed somewhat; I intend to become a children's counselor. Looking at my life I know I've made the right choice, and I still have Miss Henson to thank for it, in a way. I often find myself wishing there was someway I could have helped her, but at the same time I realize that I was too young to understand how to help. As a child, I forgave Miss Henson for leaving me with a stranger I didn't know, and as an adult I've forgiven her for leaving me with the useless guilt that I couldn't ease her pain. Now, every year, on the anniversary of her death, purple orchids can be found on her tombstone as a ‘thank you' for the way she touched my life, even from beyond the grave.
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