Lately, many people have expressed their sympathies about my mother’s long, painful battle, saying how hard it was for them when their parent had to spend months in the hospital. However, I realized after she passed that I am grateful to have spent so much time with her during this last chapter of her life. When she wasn’t under anesthesia, she and I would spend hours talking about everything we could, as if we were making up for lost time. Sometimes we started out by talking about life at her childhood home in Arizona, and she would end up telling me what kind of man I ought to marry. “Whatever you do,” she would say, “make sure you marry for love and not because you need him. A man is not a financial plan.” Then, ever the helpful teacher, she would add with a smile, “Although, they do rhyme and that may be why so many people get confused about that.” When someone you love passes away, there is a strong temptation to remember them perhaps a little too well. Misdeeds are forgotten. Offenses are forgiven. Only the most shining characteristics of our loved ones make it into the version of them that we keep with us when they depart. My mother’s only fault was in leaving behind a husband and six children who loved her very much. She was the first in her family to have so many children. She herself only had a brother and a sister, and they had no more than three children each. With every new baby, her family would always ask her, “Ellen, are you done yet?” Even though she had so many kids to feed, bathe, drive to soccer, and help with homework (sometimes all at once), we had no doubt that our mother loved us as much as humanly possible. No matter what else she was doing, she went out of her way to spend one-on-one time with each of us. The best thing that she has left behind for us is her example. Most people who knew her would be surprised to learn that she struggled with clinical depression on and off for her entire adult life. Her journal, which she kept diligently, details the feelings of doubt and worthlessness that plagued her in every aspect of her life. At church, she felt hopelessly inferior to the enthusiastic and sympathetic women around her. About her classroom, she wrote, “I feel like a sham standing in front of my students every day, telling them how they should live their lives when I’m such a wreck. How could they take me seriously?” Even at home, her sensitivity and anxiety would sometimes get the better of her. Although it was a frequent occurrence, I was always saddened by seeing my mother cry. But even with all of her challenges, she faced the world with unparalleled hope and optimism. Her passion for learning inspired hundreds of children throughout her years as a fifth grade teacher. She always told her students that, even when you don’t have the kind of life you might like, you can find happiness in helping and taking care of those around you. To quote Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., “An individual has not started living until he can rise above the narrow confines of his individualistic concerns to the broader concerns of all humanity.” Because of the caring and tender daughter, sister, wife, mother, and grandmother that she was, Ellen Drake will be sorely missed. But greater than the sorrow from her death is the joy that she spread in her life. Just as she guided each of her students through the fifth grade, her wisdom and love will continue to guide each one of her six children throughout our lives.