‘Til We Meet Again

I was at an education conference this past week, and I saw many teachers I know sitting in sessions, passing in the hallways, out at dinner. There were waves and hugs and nods nonstop.  I don’t always remember where or how we met, but we are members of a kindred group, educators I see here and there across the state and across the years.

Such it was with Dr. Everly Broadway.

I don’t remember the exact moment we met; she was just always there, an exceptionally talented teacher in my district. The next thing I knew she was our district math expert, and she was everywhere, helping teachers build their math repertoire, hone their instructional skills. From there she went on to become the Section Chief for K-12 Mathematics at the North Carolina Department of Public Instruction, working with educators across our state, sharing the newest instructional innovations.

It was while she was in that position, and I was serving as North Carolina’s Teacher of the Year, that we became “fellows” in the same Education Policy Fellowship Program (EPFP) class. Our group met once a week from September to May, and Everly and I carpooled on most of those nights, making the thirty minute trip from Raleigh to Durham at what we both agreed was “almost bedtime.”

We solved the world’s problems every Tuesday night during that car ride. We discussed politics and religion, education (of course), and parenting. We argued over which one of us was Donny Osmond’s girlfriend, both of us being fans since our teen years. Everly, though, had actually met him, had pictures made after his concert, pictures she shared with me as we both squealed over our childhood crush one night in EPFP class.

After pulling up in front of her house on those nights, I watched her get out of my car a thousand times, grab her bag out of the back seat, and run up the steps like a school girl. It’s a memory I’ll hold always.

Everly’s presence in our meetings was a part of what set the tone for the “fellowship” component of Education Policy Fellowship Program. She told her stories, and she had this infectious laugh that carried across the room. When that laugh would bellow out, we’d all look over at her, wanting to be a part of whatever it was that brought her such joy. At the same time she was a brilliant participant, asking the presenters pertinent and meaningful questions, providing respectful pushback when necessary, always with a smile as big as Texas.

Texas.

Everly is a Texas girl. And she and her husband Mike returned there shortly after EPFP ended for Everly to become the Director of Mathematics with the Texas Education Agency. I couldn’t believe our Department of Public Instruction would recover after she made that move. But I knew math in Texas would never be the same.

It was there in April 2012 that my friend Everly started experiencing some problems. You know how you have some pain and as you go to get it checked out you wonder if it’s more than just a nagging nuisance? Well, for Everly it was. Her diagnosis led to chemo, an ugly bout with mucositis, clinical trials, and a Caringbridge journey that no one wants to take.

Here in North Carolina, I followed that journey knowing full well that nothing could ever win in a fight with my friend. She is a force to be reckoned with, a spirit larger than life…the kind of person who may look human but who has the wind and the mountains and the ocean in her, the entire world in one laugh. During that time, I received many emails and messages from her, always asking about me…about my mother’s health, always thinking about others. I believed, from across the miles, that she was okay, and I waited for the news that the VOT (Very Obstinate Tumor, as Everly named it) was gone forever.

But yesterday’s Caringbridge news was different from the many previous posts. Mike is a scholar himself, and his writings across this journey have been science lessons as well as love notes. He’s explained every detail for us laymen to understand and has intimated his love for his wife all the while. And yesterday’s message was the one we never wanted to read. It contained that word that means we’re out of ideas, we’re out of time, we’re out of hope.

Hospice.

From North Carolina, I picture Everly in her bed in Texas. The Hospice professionals are milling about as they do, making everyone feel comfortable. Her family is beside her, continually talking, sharing stories, and praying. When Everly looks out from that bed, she sees all of them.

But she sees others, too. There are Donny and Marie, of course. (I give, Everly! He IS your boyfriend!) Thousands of math students are there…those who have now gone on to college and beyond…they’re grinning at their former teacher, the one who inspired them. Hundreds of math curriculum folks are there, smiling lovingly at the mentor who led them with encouragement and love. Our entire EPFP group is there, sharing pictures from our trips to Phoenix and Washington, DC.

And I’m there. I’m there, too, Everly, wondering how a world can be nearly as bright without you. But you knowingly nod at me. And I know it, too…we’ll see that smile everywhere and continue to feel your indomitable spirit. And when times get tough, we’ll think of the fight you fought and realize we were lucky to witness such courage and grace.

Thanks for the memories, Dr. Everly. Go ahead and run up those steps when you’re ready…or if in keeping with what we know about you and your determination, you want to come on back down and hop in my car again…well…that’ll work, too.