The Ripples of a Meaningful Life
What my teacher is teaching me, even after death.
Dear friend,
How are you? And how is your beautiful heart?
If there is one thing I think about every single day of my life, it’s death. If I’m honest, it’s a cacophony of colours sitting patiently in the back of my head, ready and waiting for me to delve in and explore it whenever my mind wanders that way.
Death has been a huge marker in my life. From when I was at home in my mother’s womb to my whole 36 years of living in this temporary earthly abode so far, it is death that has been my constant companion.
As a child, I didn’t understand it. As a teenager, it left me crippled with fear, anxiety and panic attacks that would leave me gasping for life, desperate to live, so afraid to die. I understood it more in my twenties, yet it still left questions and pain in its wake. I understood that to be alive meant that one day we would have to die - but I guess I didn’t fully accept it. But now, in my thirties? I am fascinated by it and the many lessons it holds for us on life, if we should choose to seek them.
Earlier this week, I was delivered the news that my childhood teacher had passed on, on New Year’s Day, after a difficult battle with cancer. Her name was Pam, although after my school years, I could never bring myself to call her that so I would endearingly call her Miss C. She taught me for 2 years during my childhood - she was my Year 4 teacher and Year 6 teacher (for non-Brits, that’s around the ages of 8-9, and 10-11).
You know when you meet someone engaged in the very thing they are here to do, and you can just see how absolutely perfect that person is for the job? Miss C was that. She was made to teach. And quite honestly, she was the best teacher I ever had. She was firm but fair, witty yet wise, her love affair of cigarettes, coffee and ‘The Sweater Shop’ jumpers was widely known and she had the biggest heart I have ever come across in a teacher.
She had a way of making you feel seen, heard, celebrated and loved. She was a huge source of strength and encouragement for me during what I have now realised were pretty turbulent times in my home life. Her patience was unrivalled; she helped me to complete my width certificate in swimming although it took me way longer than everyone else in my class. She coaxed me with courage as I abseiled down a cliff face - I think I was probably on the edge for over 30 minutes with classmates awaiting their turn behind me, scared through to my bones, but because of her, I eventually made it down. She chose me for so many little projects where she knew I would thrive. She introduced me to Harry Potter (a love affair that is only getting stronger for me year on year!) and she was the best narrator and storyteller you could ever find. She entered me for a higher English test paper during the standard national exams that 11-year-olds have to take because she believed I had what it took, and she almost cried with me when she delivered the news that I had achieved the highest grade possible - one of only two pupils in our whole city that had achieved that result. She was so proud!
As I ventured on in life after leaving primary school, I thought of her often. Her impact on my life and me as a person had been profound. It was in 2016, having moved to the island paradise of Mauritius and after the birth of my little girl, that I managed to get hold of her email address and we quickly became e-penpals. This evolved into the exchange of phone numbers and Whatsapp conversations which led to a three-hour tea date at her home when I returned to England. Sitting down with her, grown-up to grown-up, was an experience I won’t forget. I just remember being in such awe of the woman that she was, now having gotten to know her on an even deeper human level. We kept in touch via WhatsApp for a few years, so it does pain me that I hadn’t reached out to her in recent years, despite how often she crossed my mind. (Note to self: if someone crosses your mind, contact them!)
Below is one of our last Whatsapp exchanges, and I am just so so glad that I told her just how special she was and how many lives she had touched.
Despite having been my teacher over 24 years ago, what I have realised is that what she had taught me as a child has stayed with me up until this very day. And that she is continuing to teach me now, even after her death.
Miss C wasn’t famous. She wasn’t rich. She lived alone in a humble home - I think from what I recall her telling me, the same home the entire time she had lived in Manchester. She was a single mum to her wonderful son and didn’t have much family around. She smoked a lot of cigarettes, drank a lot of coffee and talked out loud to her teddy bears; she shouted sometimes, laughed out loud and loved fiercely.
Miss C devoted herself to helping others, through the work she did as a teacher. She even continued to volunteer at the same old school well after retirement and even during her illness, because she cared so much. She didn’t only impact me; she impacted so many people, too many to count. The ripples of what appears to be her ordinary simple life are being felt far and wide, as messages and comments of how incredible she was continue to pour in online.
Her life may have looked simple and ordinary from the outside, but her life was meaningful and maybe that is in fact, what matters most.
Each pupil who she poured her love, care and commitment into carries a piece of her with them today. She lifted so many of us up. She made us laugh. She helped us to achieve what we didn’t think was possible. But more than anything else, she made us BELIEVE.
As I scroll through our WhatsApp conversations, even in recent years she was giving me the hope, encouragement and belief that anything I want to do or create in this world is never out of my reach and that I can do anything I set my mind and heart to. She did that for me as a 9-year-old, as an 11-year-old, and as a 30-year old and I will carry that now, for the rest of my life. She was an extraordinary human being.
What I am learning now after her passing is that it’s not about the applause, the recognition, the wealth, the fame, the success, all those things that we strive for in the hope of feeling enough… it’s about creating a meaningful life of service however you can with whatever you have, without any expectations of what you will receive in return. Everything she gave to me, to all of her pupils and I’m sure to her family and friends, will be passed on through us for generations to come. In that way, there is no death. There is only more life.
As Buddha said, “Thousands of candles can be lit from a single candle…” and in the same way, who knows how far the ripples of Miss C.’s meaningful life will go.
My hope for us all is that we all find our way to a meaningful life. And may we all be the ripples of those who have touched ours and carry them forward.
Thank you for everything, Miss C. See you soon.💛
With Light, Love and Peace,
Sabah x
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Miss C for you is like my father for me. The purpose of life is all we have to do. Thanks for this beautiful reflexion.
The gift and beautiful legacy of Miss C. are in your heart, Sabah, and she will always be with you. You always share so much light, and you are also such an exceptional gift to all of us lucky enough to read your words. I am with you in your loss....and admiring you so, so, so much! ❤️🙏✨