Neighbors

When a human being passes away, friends, family, and the casual acquaintance should attempt to say something nice about their time among us. Even if there's not all that much nice to say. It's the decent thing to do.

But in the event that someone passes prematurely from a god awful disease, leaving behind an immeasurable impression upon the world, well then, we should line-up and take our turn describing the awesomeness that we will no longer have the opportunity to witness.

My friend Jennifer Birch passed away last weekend. And this is my turn.

 My perspective, as it relates to my friend and colleague Jennifer Birch, is a unique one. I was her neighbor. I never gave it much thought before but the relationship of neighbor is an important one amongst middle school teachers. You see, our days are often marked by thousands of interactions with kids and not nearly enough with adults. With friends and colleagues spread out across the campus it becomes common place to go days or even a week without seeing them. Things are different with a neighbor though. Your neighbor is the constant.


Stationed in the building furthest from everything on campus Jennifer Birch and I were neighbors. We shared one wall and hundreds of students across the years and this guaranteed that we would see each other every day.

The first face I saw to begin the day and the last one before I left for home, Jen became a constant in each school day. Our doors were close enough to shout to one another between class as we stood at our doors to greet our students. As two of the 7th grade English and History teachers at our school, Jen and I shared the majority of our students. This allowed us to compare their behavior and performance, what worked with some students, and what didn't with others. I often popped into her class during my prep period to pick her brain. An experienced teacher, Jen was a great sounding-board when I was unsure of a particular course of action to take with a student. How lucky was I to have such a valuable resource but a stone's throw away from my room.

Jen and I didn't eat lunch together. She spent her time with a host of literary figures and raconteurs. Jen Birch was the most voracious reader I ever met. Reading was important and Jen did it while she ate. As I passed her class I always hesitated to interrupt her flow but she didn't seem too bothered when I did. I would hang through the open window and tell her a goofy story about my daughters. These were stories Jen could always relate to as her daughters were about the same age as mine. Jen recounted similar tales. Daughters are goofy. There's no shortage of stories there.

Jennifer read everything. And when she thought a title would interest me she would stop by with a suggestion. The last book she gave was a piece of historical fiction called Aztec by Gary Jennings. The book is massive but Jen probably read it in a week. It's sitting on my desk at school and I now realize how badly I erred in not picking it up sooner. I would have loved to have discussed it with her.

Sharing students gave me the opportunity to hear them talk about their favorite teacher. Students loved Mrs. Birch. They loved her and it became evident by the way they talked about her. There was a sincerity to the descriptions students ascribed to her and it made even more sense when she always won the vote for Favorite 7th Grade Teacher.

Mrs. Birch didn't win this award because she was a pushover in the class room letting kids do whatever they wanted. I know this because I was her neighbor. Jen Birch was a hard-ass and never gave an inch. It's probably why she was beloved. Kids knew she cared. Even when she missed a massive part of the last school year students maintained that their English teacher was, "Mrs. Birch." This is no slight to her long-term substitute, an excellent teacher in her own right - it's simply the regard in which she was held.

When I learned that Jen was going to retire early to stage a more effective battle against her cancer, I sent her a message telling her that I was sorry to hear the news. She responded with the following:

I'm pretty bummed. Totally not ready to leave the classroom, but I don't want to keep ditching my students the way I have the last couple of years . . . You should call dibs on my room! Best room ever.

Imagine that. Forced into retirement by an unyielding disease and her first thought was about the welfare of her students. No wonder they loved her. With that attitude it's no wonder everyone did.

And no thanks, Jen. Your room was awesome but I'd prefer to remember it as yours.

Miss ya, neighbor.