Mensajes

She visited 47 countries. I asked her once which was her favorite. She said: The next one. I think about that every time I book a flight.

I am a teacher now because of her. Every lesson I plan, I ask: would Mrs. Whitfield think this is good enough? It keeps my standards high.

The manuscript exists. I have a copy. And I promise you, the world will read it.

Mrs. Whitfield was the first teacher who told me my accent was an asset, not a problem. That one sentence changed how I moved through this country.

She read my first draft novel at 2am and called me the next morning full of notes and encouragement. I published it last year. The dedication is hers.

Mrs. Whitfield assigned us to keep a journal in tenth grade. I never stopped. I've filled 22 notebooks. She started that.

She never finished the novel. But she finished us — fully, completely, with everything she had. That's more important.

Liz, you loved this life so hard. You ran toward everything — countries, people, ideas, heartbreak. I was lucky enough to run beside you for 26 years.

Jim and I served together in 1970. He was the calmest man under pressure I ever met. The kind of soldier — the kind of man — you were honored to stand beside.

Jim, 52 years wasn't enough. It was never going to be enough. But every single day with you was a gift. Wait for me.

Robert Brennan served this city with honor and left it safer than he found it. We are proud to call him one of our own.

Our dad made Christmas magical for us every year without fail. That he left on Christmas Day — I choose to believe that was his last gift.

Bob was the best officer I served with in 27 years. Cool under pressure, first through the door, last to leave the scene.

Robert, you lived more in your 62 years than most people do in twice that. Christmas will never feel the same. Nothing will. But you taught us how to celebrate anyway.

There are teachers who teach subjects and teachers who teach you how to be. Eleanor Foster was the second kind.

Mrs. Foster stayed after school with me every Tuesday for a semester when I was struggling to read. Because of her patience, I went on to get a PhD in literature. I owe her everything.

Mrs. Foster was my third-grade teacher and I still think of her every time I open a book. She made me believe I could write. I carry that with me every single day.

We came over on the same boat from Ireland in 1963. She was the first person to make me laugh in this new country. She never stopped making me laugh for 60 years.