Room 012

Room 012.
"In the basement of Southern Oregon University's Education and Psychology building, at the end of a quiet, empty, mostly beige hall, an explosion of color and eclectic ideas greets anyone who glances into Room 012."

A few days ago, one of the professor of SOU - School of Education passed away.

I did not have the privilege to benefit from her passion for education or her knowledge. Never took her class, never got a chance to converse, I could not even put an image to her name when I read the letter, sent from the Dean informing her final departure.

But I remember Room 012.

All the way down in the basement of the PsyEd building, where the bleach, lifeless corridor remained silent like a secret, there was a heaven filled with things that made we smile. I passed by her room every single day I had class. It was always a rush - I was always late or a minute early. I had always wonder whose teacher office it was for the outburst of color, children paintings, the vibrant classroom tools were just a treat to my eyes. I always meant to stop by and let her know I loved her room. I always meant to drop in and introduced myself - just because. But I always rushed and never stopped to say "Thank you" for the way her heaven brightened up my days.

Today I found her blog - the blog of a writer, an educator who loved children and found this in one of her entry

"They are all dead: my mother a year ago this month, Sugar in September, Aunt Mildred several years ago, and even in my dreams I cannot find them. Once we were The Four Musketeers and now I am the only one left to remember the fun we had in our matching black watch plaid jumpers and purple shoes. I am the only one who can picture the four of us in gingerbread man bathing suits with ruffled bottoms. The only one who knows about the gardenias we bought at Union Station. Holidays are fraught with memories of what once was and will never be again and it is easy to be sad. But this morning shortly after I awoke, while I was feeling sad and looking for work to distract me, I found this quotation from Patsy Cline in my mother’s handwriting: “You don’t get anywhere wallerin’ in misery.” And that’s the message I’ll remember when I think of this dream.

What have you lost? What have you found?

Pain comes like the weather, but joy is a choice. • Rodney Crowell"

Rest in Peace, Professor Wilkins-O’Riley Zinn. No longer will you have to seek in your dreams the faces of the 3 Musketeers you loved. Now join them in heaven and watch over us - the upcoming teachers of the future, your students who are on their roads of creating a world full of "things that make children smile".