For how long can we remain faithful to someone who has made a big impact in our life we initially called our teacher? Do we still give the same amount of effort on the founded relationship up to this day? Do we stress our mentor’s importance in our day to day ride we call journey? How can we easily slip into forgetting the part they played in our early life, as we pursue happiness that’s supposed to make us any happier? How come by a single text you realize at once the same amount of affection hasn’t become any less through the years, saying that your teacher missed and loved you?
Two weeks ago, I was in a company of high school classmates for a prayer vigil over the body of our Biology teacher who passed away from cancer. I remember her as soft-spoken, someone who rarely got mad at unruly, naughty students, and with eyes carrying a shade of blue. I don’t know if she ever wore contacts, though, but that’s exactly imprinted in my memory. She’s one of the teachers whom I admittedly have become a fan of.
When we went out of the funeral parlor, while talking and waiting for someone, the very moment the door went open after us, a big black butterfly rushed its way out and man, did I feel its wings flapping against my head. I’m not superstitious, but it’s hard to ignore something that’s all too powerful at that moment.
I thought I felt her presence for the last time.