Dear Terri Mitchell

Open letters are a thing, right? People like these? Well I hope they do, because I'm doing it.

You probably don't remember the first time we met, Terri. But I do.

We were looking for the perfect school for our perfect daughter. And we'd been driving a half hour each way to her preschool for the last year, so we had a pretty big radius we were willing to explore within.

What were we looking for? This may be the part where we should separate out the we. My husband was undoubtedly looking for the school Ayana could ride the bus to. He did the lion's share of the preschool driving, so we'll give him that. I, on the other hand, was looking for diversity. I had run into some roadblocks getting my kid that sibling that looks like her (which she still wishes for every time she blows out the candles), so it became a priority for me to find a school community that would make her feel like less of a novelty, a token.

That's how Sanchez got on my radar. That and the free, full-day kindergarten. And let's be real here, Terri Mitchell. At that point in time, I would have laid down a number of lofty ideals for free, full-day kindergarten.

Because that point in time, that specific day we met, was a real low point for me. We had two appointments that day: one to meet you for a tour of Sanchez and one with a surgeon down in Denver to officially kick off my cancer removal campaign. So...suckola.

But as any mom knows, life doesn't stop when you're under the weather. Our schedule that day was really the perfect metaphor for mom life. Kid first, then save yourself.

Maybe I wasn't present on the drive to Sanchez. I'll cop to that. Maybe I didn't really care as much about diversity that morning and maybe I was thinking we'd take Sanchez if Sanchez would take Ayana, because I was about to blow her Kindergarten Enrichment fund on radiation.

But then there you were. Perhaps the only person in the whole wide world with the magnetism and enthusiasm to pull me out of that impressively deep wallow pit and remind me that there was, in fact, a whole lot of life in front of us. You bragged on Sanchez. You taught us about IB, which was so much more amazing in action than it could have hoped to come across on the school website. You radiated love for the students and passion for your job.

And then you saw a student running in the hall and you put your hand on his shoulder and said, "Thank you for remembering that we walk at Sanchez."

Thank you for remembering that we walk at Sanchez.

Terri, I can't tell you how much that struck me. It was the opposite of everything I'd ever seen or felt in my elementary school. In truth, I'd never seen authority and respect so expertly entwined in a public space. I know now that's a thing you all do at Sanchez. I'm spoiled and I hear reminders like that in the halls of the school all the time. But in that moment, hearing you say that felt unprecedented. And incredible.

In the years we've been at Sanchez, I've gotten to know you as more than the golden goddess who made that one decision in a highly confusing year easy. Like so easy. And of course the ease with which you drew us into Sanchez is what makes seeing you go so hard.

To say that Sanchez won't be the same without you is the kind of embarrassing understatement that I won't bother to say. But today, in my guttedness, I'll focus on something I know will stay the same. The culture of Sanchez—the heart of Sanchez—has been molded by your influence. That heart is going to keep beating.

So...you know...thanks. Thank you for reminding us that we walk at Sanchez. We walk tall and we walk proud because you never let us do anything less.