The young woman lay in the coffin, having succumbed to a long battle with brain cancer. Her parents stood on one side of the coffin. Her husband David and her four year old son Jared stood on the other side. The visitors passed slowly by to pay their respects. This was not the way life — or death — was supposed to be. Especially when the young woman had been a superb teacher, possessing all the right skills to excite her fifth graders about the joys of reading and learning and self discovery.

But that’s the way it was in August, 2001 when my sister Martha experienced the death of her only child Linda. They had developed an exceptionally close mother-daughter bond over the years, sharing a love of teaching and a devotion to family.

No parent ever fully recovers from such a loss, but some people seem blessed with the ability to move on, to live out their lives in a productive, even optimistic way. My sister Martha is such a person. I stand in awe of all she has accomplished in the nearly 19 years since her daughter’s death.

She began the process by writing a book entitled, “The Classroom is Bare,” a memoir about Linda’s teaching, the deep devotion to her students and the challenges mother and daughter faced together during the illness. My review on Amazon read, in part, “This book is about the powerful love between a mother and a daughter. It’s about the profound impact teachers make in the classroom. It’s about hope and sunshine and looking forward to today — and tomorrow.”

After finishing the memoir, Martha ramped up the travel agency business she had launched after retiring in 1996. She continues working with clients from around the world to this day; indeed, 2019 was her busiest year ever. She’s honed her expertise by traveling around the world with her husband Lamar. Name a country and they’ve probably been there – or plan to do so. She says that planning travel itineraries is like “putting together a jigsaw puzzle,” a hobby she’s taken up on the side, along with everything else.

Oh, and then there’s Martha’s long time involvement with the National Education Association; President of the Missouri NEA; President of the

Missouri NEA Retired; and Board of Directors of the National Retired Association. A resident of Venice, Florida, Martha decided that teachers in her county who have retired to Florida needed their own organization, so she established the Florida Suncoast NEA, which just celebrated its fifth anniversary.

Did I mention that she participated for many years in the annual Tampa Breakthrough for Brain Tumors 5K Run and Walk?

And then there’s Martha’s fine artistic talent, a talent not shared by yours truly. (Fair warning: Don’t choose me to be on your Pictionary team.) She took many art courses at Parkersburg (W.Va.) High School and then at Stephens College in Missouri, but then set her artwork aside for career and family pursuits. While on a visit to Monhegan Island in Maine with a good friend around 2002, she decided to try her hand at painting. “I remembered more than I thought I would,” she recalls. As a result, she’s been an active painter for the last 15 years, inspired by lessons and by her fellow artists at the Venice Art Center. A specialist in landscapes, she’s had her work selected for several exhibitions, and she’s also done some painting on consignment.

Martha has experimented with oil painting, acrylic and watercolors, but she now works almost exclusively with water colors. “I’ve had some success with water colors,” she explains, “and it’s also easier to clean up.”

Whew! As my sister approaches her 80th birthday in July, she shows no signs of slowing down. Being idle is not in her genes. Her always supportive husband Lamar laughingly refers to Martha as a “workaholic.” That may be true to a point, but she never exhibits the tense, gotta-get-everything-down-now, get-out-of-my-way signs of most workaholics. I prefer the term “lifeaholic.” Yes, that works. Lifeaholic. My sister the lifeaholic. I am proud to be her brother.

(A final note: Our family lived in Richland, Washington during World War II, as our dad was working on the Manhattan Project in Hanford. One Sunday morning when I was two and Martha was four-and-a-half, she decided, on her own, that she would take me to church. She neglected, though, to tell our parents. She had enough change saved up to get us on the bus and take us to Sunday School and then return home. My parents, no doubt, were a tad concerned about our whereabouts. Lo, these many years later, she’s still showing me the way.)

David Treadwell, a Brunswick writer, welcomes commentary and suggestions for future “Just a Little Old” columns. dtreadw575@aol.com.

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