Mrs. Sharon

As I begin my last year of teaching, I am looking back on the last 25 years I have spent in the same district from which I graduated high school.  There is one person I wish I could have shared the entire time with, but she is not far from my thoughts.

My junior high reading teacher was one of the best teachers I ever had. I was scared to death of her those two years, though, because Mrs. Sharon demanded respect and didn’t take any bull off anyone, as she taught in what I thought was a most unconventional manner. It was really exciting to have a teacher work hard to connect with you. She wanted us to think, not just spew memorized crap. She talked to us like we mattered; she talked to us about life.

I remember a particular lesson where Mrs. Sharon had us stare at the clock on the wall for an entire minute. It was the longest minute I had ever experienced. Everyone was silent, wondering why we were doing this. When the minute was up, she told us we would never have that minute again. It was gone, but we had more minutes that we could make count. She challenged us to never waste our time; make the most of every second. The activity had such a profound effect on me; she had me missing that minute, wishing I could have it back to do something important with it. Such a simple little thing, but no one had ever talked to me that way before.

She promised us that gasoline would someday be $1.00 per gallon or more. We laughed and thought that was just ludicrous–it was 37 cents per gallon at the time, and it was inconceivable that $1.00 would ever be possible. She also served as a courier of notes between her sister, attending a school seven miles away, and me. Who would do that? She was incredible and I wanted to learn everything I could from her. I remember when she was pregnant with her second child during those years, and how I worried and missed her terribly because she was frequently ill and in and out of the hospital.

Time passes and we become distracted with life. I eventually became a teacher myself; Sharon raised her two daughters and began enjoying the births of grandchildren.

Twenty years later, I found myself in my first teaching assignment, directly across the hall from her. We were seventh grade co-teachers, I teaching science and she still teaching reading. I found myself her student once again.  But this time, she became my dear friend.

Within a year, I was attending her church. She taught me everything possible about teaching and how to give of yourself to others. She shared books on angels and her belief in receiving signs from God and those we love who have gone before us.

Plagued with severe diabetes, her heart was extremely weak and she became a candidate for a heart transplant. She agonized over whether to go through with it and attempt to prolong her life, or not. Her grandchildren won out. Sharon decided a few more precious years with them would be worth it. The constant signs she received from God also helped clinch the deal. There were always fortune cookies (follow your heart), marquees (trust in the Lord with all your heart), or conversations that were obviously personal messages meant for her–encouraging her that she was doing the right thing. The most profound message, however, was found in her own yard. The day her husband cut down a tree and found the cross-section of that tree in the shape of a heart, her path became very clear and she seemed at peace about her decision.

My dear friend had her transplant and gained a few more years with her family. Sharon was an incredibly strong and stubborn warrior. She went to work every day possible, because she loved her job and her students. Even when others would have given up, she pushed herself. She was my definition of class. She always looked like she stepped out of Vogue, while she bravely battled complications with depression, rejection medications, and kidney failure.

Long story short, Sharon Rodocker lost her earthly battle and won heavenly life in June of 2003. Right away, she began “contacting” many of her friends and loved ones. She visited me the day of her funeral while I was completely distraught, sobbing in my shower, thinking I could not bear to see her body lying in state or face her family. I was definitely feeling sorry for myself, finding it too hard to drag myself out of the shower, get dressed, and make the visitation on time, when a POP reverberated  inside my shower, jolting me to attention. I quickly surveyed anything that could have made the sound, but of course, there was no explanation. I immediately knew what was happening. I was rocked into reality by my friend and told to straighten up, in no uncertain terms. I catapulted from sobbing to laughing, in the blink of an eye. I was, after all, happy for her. Time then literally slowed down, so I could finish getting ready and get to the visitation in our school gym, in plenty of time.

Sharon visited me many times over the next year, for reassurance about various things or to again smack me into reality, but always in my shower. When my mother passed almost a year later, she picked up where my friend left off–also in the shower, but using a different method (razors) to get my attention. I have not heard that sonic pop that was so frequent in my shower, since May, 2004. It has been an honor to know and love Sharon Rodocker.

I thought my story ended there, so I wrote it down. The next day, I told one of Sharon’s closest friends about it–he was also a teacher and had also experienced “Sharon visits.” I told him I wanted to share my story with Sharon’s two daughters, and have their permission to post it on this blog. Little did I know, I had a message waiting for me from one of her daughters who had read a story I had written about my own mother. The message said: “I love this story! I am up at 2:42 a.m. missing my mother greatly and happened upon this. God works in mysterious ways!” This was a few short hours after I had written her mother’s story. I was so excited to confirm with her that God and her mother are indeed still both working in mysterious ways!

Photo courtesy of Chris Rodocker Siler.

This story was originally published in Oxymoronlover’s Blog.