Oh my.

Jeanette died.

When I say she came to pretty much every Fall Avoidance class, I’m not exaggerating.

Thank You, Jesus, that she knew and followed You.

I’m gonna go out on a limb and be honest here:

I wasn’t a fan at first.

She was a former school teacher and definitely had a strong opinion about the way things should be.

I was just learning how to teach Fall Avoidance, and she would regularly correct me by telling me how the previous instructors had done things. 

It made me bristle.

But we started to get to know each other.  It took me quite a while to figure out the ropes, but I did eventually get it.  I started to teach with a little more confidence and authority.  She started treating me with more respect.  I kinda liked that I had to earn her respect; it wasn’t automatically handed out.  She had been with these participants for a long time and felt it was her duty to protect them from poor teaching that could injure them.

Anyway, eventually we became friends.  I don’t mean we ever laughed and whooped it up together; that’s not her thing.  But we both respected the other’s views.  Sometimes when she tried to take over my class, I quickly – but with humor – reminded her it was my turn.  She seemed to be impressed by that.

The last conversation we had last week was about kids running around.  We were talking about the difference between our gym and the YMCA.  The Y is very kid-friendly and children are everywhere.  When I bring my boys up to the childcare at our gym – or when we walk downstairs and out to the car – they are some of the few kids the members see daily.  They make a big deal about them and are always kind.

Anyway, someone was talking about how they appreciate that there are not a bunch of kids running around our gym like there are at the Y.  I got a little defensive and off-handedly remarked that sometimes my boys get excited and run through the waiting area.

Jeanette was very kind, but very insistent. 

She goes, “You know here’s the thing about us older folks.  Our balance isn’t as good as it used to be and if a small child comes barreling toward us, we can’t always get out of the way in time.  I was at the Forum Theater a few years ago and a young boy ran out beside a lady with a cane and knocked her over.  I know the boy felt really badly, but either way, the lady broke her hip and died not long after.”

Here’s the thing: She wasn’t trying to make me feel bad.  She wasn’t trying to control me (not a fan of that).  She was just telling me her experience and wisdom in what she has seen in her life.  Once I could get over my pride, I could realize she was doing me a favor.

But she wasn’t done. 

After our circle time she followed me to a certain section of the obstacle course.  She looked at it and goes, “You know I’m not sure I want to try this one but I always teach my Sunday School kids to say, ‘I’d be glad to’ when I ask them to do something.  So, Jamie, I’ll be glad to do this obstacle.”

I thought it was so great of her. 

Anyway, back to today.

Caleb and I got to the gym a little early since our errands weren’t as long.  Once again, it was told to me very nonchalantly by the front desk that a long-time participant of mine had died suddenly.  I, of course, teared up.  Then the lady who had been the one to inform the front desk about it came around where I was standing.  She started to share what had happened and her memories of Jeanette.

She was on a long-awaited cruise when she passed away.  She had told me and the entire class about this trip several times.  I was so glad she was doing something she was excited about when it was her turn to go.  And that she had a good friend on the trip with her.

The lady telling us the details goes, “We have mutual friends who live in the Northwest but their grandkids live here. So when their kids need grandparent time, Jeanette and I would get to play fill-in Grandma together.”

That made my heart break.  Both that they were helping these young people out that way…and that this lady talking to us just lost such a good friend. 

I hugged her and she goes, “Oh stop, now I’ll start crying again.”

Well, I’m quite like Truvy in Steel Magnolias: No one cries alone in my presence.  And the tears started to come. 

You’d be proud of  me.  I didn’t run to the bathroom and hide.  I let them flow. 

When Caleb and I got up to the childcare, our sweet, faithful Ms. Rhonda talked to me about my sadness.  She let the tears flow, too, without making me feel stupid.

I had started to pull it together a little.  And then the tears returned right before my class was to start.

Right when I didn’t want them to. 

I wanted to seem competent.  And in control.  And peppy, for crying in the night. 

But I wasn’t just then; I was sad. 

I briefly told the class why.  They gave me understanding nods, didn’t make fun of me, and we went on our merry way. 

No, I wasn’t as excited as I usually am teaching, but I think they still got a good workout.  And they saw me as a real person, not a robot.

Want to know the last thing Jeanette said to me before she left my class that last time?

“Well, I’ve gotta go.  But I’ll be seeing you.”