Grief is not a topic I usually write about on this blog, but on February 4th and 13th I lost two very good friends to unexpected medical events. Both were moms in the prime of raising their boys. Two women who genuinely loved working with children and embracing them unconditionally.
The one I wanted to highlight here at Maple Key is our own tutor, Michelle Haddock who passed away after a severe asthma attack. She was able to be with us for the first week on the farm this year and wrote responses to all the students’ journals. She faithfully tutored one of our students in poetry, creative writing, and literature at the downtown library every week and loved her special connection with her.
Before she came to work for Maple Key, we got to know each other through our work at a local small library. I knew Michelle and I were going to be good friends after she was hired when she began talking about all the children’s literature she enjoyed reading. We would chat all the time about the programming we were working on along with all of our visions for the future of the library. She co-wrote the grant we were awarded in order to bring gardening to the library. Every day she had so much joy, knowledge, and humbleness in her spirit that she freely gave to others in her life. The other tutors at Maple Key and the library are still in deep mourning over her encouraging heart no longer being with us.
Here is what the library posted on its Facebook page:

It has been a difficult few weeks figuring out moment by moment how to manage deep feelings of loss while comforting others in the same loss. You just hug, cry, make a meal, write a condolence card, send a text to your other hurting friends and do it all over again the next day. That’s all you can do when you still can’t get your mind around the absence, the loss of what could have been.
Michelle loved to write and read and reflect. Our co-worker remembered she had started a blog to capture some of her greatest joys — her own children. Her post for her oldest son on his birthday beautifully explained her whole heart:
I have continued to fail you, over and over and over again…. and you forgive me, over and over and over again. You have the most resilient and forgiving spirit of any person I have ever met. Perhaps, it is simply because you have no choice. Walking two newbie parents through life requires one to have thick-skin, to survive all their missteps. But what is so precious about your forgiveness, as I watch you extend it to others and feel it given to myself….is that it is done so completely. Once you decide to forgive, the slate is washed clean. My hope for you as you enter this new part of your life- the part where many of the hurts that you will carry through the rest of your life will occur- is that you keep that superpower of yours, to forgive with your whole heart.
My other hope for you is that you will know, that you know, that you know….that you are worthy. I hope that you retain your tender heart. I hope that you keep your fiery spirit. I hope you never, ever forget that you are desperately loved.
Michelle also loved poetry, so I am concluding this post with one of the best of them — Mary Oliver
“Starlings in Winter”
by Mary Oliver
Chunky and noisy,
but with stars in their black feathers,
they spring from the telephone wire
and instantly
they are acrobats
in the freezing wind.
And now, in the theater of air,
they swing over buildings,
dipping and rising;
they float like one stippled star
that opens,
becomes for a moment fragmented,
then closes again;
and you watch
and you try
but you simply can’t imagine
how they do it
with no articulated instruction, no pause,
only the silent confirmation
that they are this notable thing,
this wheel of many parts, that can rise and spin
over and over again,
full of gorgeous life.
Ah, world, what lessons you prepare for us,
even in the leafless winter,
even in the ashy city.
I am thinking now
of grief, and of getting past it;
I feel my boots
trying to leave the ground,
I feel my heart
pumping hard. I want
to think again of dangerous and noble things.
I want to be light and frolicsome.
I want to be improbable beautiful and afraid of nothing,
as though I had wings.
We miss you so much, Michelle.








