A terrifying whirl of emotion, a leap into a dark abyss, a question without an answer: second grade. As I walked through the doors to the foreign classroom, I saw a tall figure standing at the front of the room. As she approached me, I felt a sense of fear--after all, my head was about level with her knees. But when she placed a long, warm, soothing hand on my back, a wave of comfort washed over me. That’s Mrs. Nolan--comforting.
    I’ve always been quiet and shy, especially in a classroom setting. I’ve never been one to speak out and put a voice to the thoughts running through my mind. This could be frustrating when I had so much to say and no way to say it. However, things were different with Mrs. Nolan. I quickly discovered that she wasn’t a person I needed to fear or shy away from--instead, I learned she’s a mentor, an ally, and a friend. 
    Mrs. Nolan is the only teacher I have ever met who isn’t just an adult that students should respect and act proper around. Mrs. Nolan presented herself as just another person--as our equal, which made the students feel comfortable and safe. To my astonishment, every single day Mrs. Nolan joined the kids on the floor to read a story or play educational games. I remember thinking, What is she doing? Is she crazy? Adults don’t sit on the floor! What’s going on? I was beyond surprised by her behavior. I never met a teacher with such youthfulness and joviality.
Mrs. Nolan had an easiness and patience with kids, which made her someone the students could relate to and confide in. Mrs. Nolan made the classroom feel like home. She was like taking off a pair of brand new, unbroken-in shoes and sliding your feet into an old pair of perfectly worn slippers.
    Mrs. Nolan quickly became my favorite teacher. I looked forward to waking up and hopping on the bus to Swallow School every morning because I knew her smiling face would be there to greet me.
    Then one day, in just one sentence, my mom turned what seemed to be just another regular day into a day that would soon become one of the most memorable of my life--“Nana has breast cancer.” She spoke gently and assured me that she would be okay, that they caught it in time. Upset, I ran to our creaky old swingset in the backyard. Why did this happen? Why Nana? When I went back inside, my mom sat me down and discussed the details. She then dropped the second bomb of the day--Mrs. Nolan was also diagnosed with breast cancer.
    Suddenly, nothing made sense. My palms began to sweat, my head spun with questions, and the quick beat of my heart drowned out all other noise. How could this happen? How could two of the most amazing women in my life both be fighting such a gruesome battle? Why did this have to happen to them?
Then my mom made a suggestion--“Why don’t you write a letter to Mrs. Nolan?”
    So I did.
    I wrote to Mrs. Nolan every week while she was in the hospital, and not once did she forget to respond. She was no longer just my favorite teacher, but she was also my pen pal. She helped me through a tough time in my life, and I could only hope that I was helping her in some way, too.
    I told Mrs. Nolan about my grandma and how she was fighting the same battle. I told her how strong she was, how much we missed her in class, and about everything we did while she was away. I asked questions, and she answered them. Mrs. Nolan, although battling her own problems, told me she was praying for my grandma every day.
    Soon, I found myself running down the driveway every afternoon to check the mailbox for Mrs. Nolan’s letters. They became my most prized possessions, and I kept every single one of them.
    Eventually, my grandma found the road to recovery as did Mrs. Nolan. As the school year came to an end, our substitute teacher had us each write a letter to the next year’s second grade class telling them what to expect from Mrs. Nolan, but to not mention her cancer at all. Other students wondered why we weren’t to bring up such an important topic, but I knew why--Mrs. Nolan wasn’t her cancer. Cancer didn’t define Mrs. Nolan or the life she lived. Cancer was simply an obstacle that she defeated with the utmost grace and positivity.
    As I began writing effortlessly about Mrs. Nolan and what a wonderful teacher she is, I knew Mrs. Nolan’s next class of second graders would love her just as I did. But I have to admit, I was jealous that they would have her as a teacher and I wouldn’t.
When I got off the bus and made my way inside after the last day of second grade, I collapsed into my mom’s arms and cried until I had no more tears in me. I didn’t want second grade to end. I didn’t want to lose Mrs. Nolan as a teacher. And I didn’t want to lose my pen pal. But as summer went on, I received a letter from Mrs. Nolan. I gleefully tore the envelope open and read the letter over and over again. I was so eager to write back.
    In that moment, I realized how lucky I am. I realized that not everyone has the privilege of having a teacher who not only inspires them in the classroom, but also takes time to write meaningful letters to a student who isn’t even theirs anymore.
    I am incredibly lucky to have met Mrs. Nolan. She helped me come out of my shell to be more outgoing at school, she guided me through one of the hardest times of my life, and she put in extra effort outside of school to make me feel special and important.
She influenced my love for learning, helped me discover my niche for writing, and showed all of her students what a strong, influential woman looks like.
    As I continue on in this whirlwind of emotion we call ‘life’ I will be forever thankful for the positive influence that is Mrs. Nolan.
    Mrs. Pat Nolan is a mother, a teacher, a cancer-defeater, an inspiration, a pen pal, and my friend.