More than a year ago, when I helped clean out my parents’ home, I discovered a letter my mother had kept for 27 years. It was dated December, 1991, the same year I began my university studies, and signed by the instructor of a writing course my mother had taken at the local community college.
Some things, I credit myself with. Reading your portfolio, I’m particularly pleased that I required the consultations from peers because Kris and Lisa have in some sense taken away my anxiety about what exactly to say to you, how to tell you of my extraordinary admiration for your questing spirit, your empathy, your willingness to risk yourself, to support others, to seek answers to unanswerable questions.
Lisa put it best when she said, “Thanks for letting me be in your portfolio.” I feel like saying thanks for letting me teach the course where you learned and wrote these things. You taught me so much that I can never thank you enough for it.
You are a writer,
It breaks my heart to think that my mother, due to lack of opportunity, resources, support, education, or courage, never followed up on her dream of becoming a published writer. And now, thanks to her diagnosis of Alzheimer’s disease, any stories she could have told are forever lost.
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