Miss Mayra, the one you talk to at school, who sings with the voice of a bird, smiles at you and your friends with a loving gleam in her eyes. The artistic one who drew your name TESS on typing paper with lavender flowers and leaves swirling around it (I kept it). The one you told me had spider bites on her hand. Yes, she did. And she has more than spider bites. She has ovarian cancer. Stage 4. In 2008, she was given 2-3 months to live. I didn’t know any of this until last Friday when I casually asked her about the spider bites. It was the first time I’ve actually talked to Mayra. Always the friendly hello, smile, nod, and thank you. Thank you for taking care of my daughter and loving her. Thank you for your sweet, gentle ways, your sparkly eyes, your birdsongs, and your magical hands that make an ordinary name look special.

I thought the hats were her style. I thought she was cool like that. I didn’t know the hats covered the effects of many months of chemo and other drugs.

Tess, when she told me I cried. Right in front of her. You were standing there by my knee caps gazing up. You didn’t understand then, but I hope one day you do. I cried because I had no idea. Not that I thought she should tell me. I cried because she gave no indication of being sick. She laughs, loves, shares her talents, floats in and out of St. Rose every day like an angel. You love her. Miss Kate says so. She says, “Tess snubs me when I try to join in on hers and Mayra’s conversations.”

Bye, Tess! She says every day you go. See you Wednesday (or Friday or Monday). She means it. Every day counts for her. And every day I thank her for being your teacher.

Your sister Arden took this one of us. I love it! I need to take one of you and Miss Mayra.