Ashley and Jill Demmel at St. Catherine Laboure School.
Jill Demmel was the type of teacher you are destined to reminisce about long after you leave the report cards, reading assignments and recesses behind.
As a second-grade teacher at St. Catherine Laboure School in Swatara Township, “Mrs. Demmel” understood that some of her pint-sized students were dealing with adult-sized challenges beyond the walls of her alphabet-lined, primary-colored classroom, fragrant with the scent of Play-Doh, books and glue.
To brighten their world, Mrs. Demmel bought hairbrushes and decorated them with the words, “You Are Beautiful,” to brush a student’s hair every morning.
She bought snacks for the children who would have gone without. She came to every game, recital and tournament and cheered exuberantly from the sidelines.
“She gave out ‘mom hugs,’ and you didn’t even have to tell her you needed it,” said Megan Fackler, the school’s administrative assistant and Jill’s close friend.
She even purchased clothing for students in need.
So, when she suddenly passed away last October at the age of 49, leaving behind her husband Bob, two daughters, a sister, and a stunned classroom of second-graders, the close-knit school family was rocked to its core.
Demmel had just been diagnosed with what was deemed to be a “mild” case of breast cancer. After just one chemotherapy treatment, she was hit with an aggressive infection that overpowered her.
The pain and permanence of death is difficult for anybody to fathom, but when you’re 7 and the teacher you love was fine on Friday but gone on Sunday, grief and confusion are more confounding than advanced algebra.
On that Sunday, an emergency text went out to all school parents informing them of the sad news and encouraging them to talk to their children. Grief counselors were also brought in to help.
Children at that age often experience “magical thinking” to try to cope with complex issues, grief experts say. When they lack the emotional tools to understand the world, they may, irrationally, blame themselves or others to try to explain the unexplainable.
Fortunately for the children of St. Catherine’s, something magical did happen.
The teacher who stepped into Mrs. Demmel’s ample shoes was her 22-year-old daughter Ashley, who had just graduated from Shippensburg University with a degree in elementary and special education.
Long-time learning support teacher Aimee Surgeoner said that some caring teachers feared that it would be far too painful for Ashley to walk into her mom’s empty classroom.
Yet, soon, they saw that taking her mom’s place was far from traumatic—it was healing. Ashley wanted to teach the kids the way her mom did, hug them like she did, and give them the Christmas gifts her mom would have, which she did—blankets and ornaments with their names on them.
When news of Ashley’s hiring hit social media, the outpouring of joy was tangible.
“Absolutely beautiful” said one mom. “Can’t think of a better tribute to Jill and a gift for those lucky second graders.”
“Best news I’ve heard in a long time,” said another mom. “Couldn’t imagine anyone else teaching those kids!”
“We were elated for Jill to take her mother’s room,” Fackler added. “She was graduating college, and it just seemed like fate.”
Surgeoner agreed.
“Having Ashley step in for her mother has been a blessing for all of us,” she said. “It has truly been seamless.”
The entire school community, from the principal and teachers to the custodians and lunch ladies, supports her, and they all feel Ashley channeling her mom’s love.
“I see a lot of Jill in Ashley,” Fackler said. “Ashley is gentle, kind and patient. She gives the best hugs. She is her mother’s child.”
Students sharing memories of Jill with Ashley has been a big part of their collective coping, Surgeoner said.
In honor of Mrs. Demmel, the school family purchased a buddy bench, which Fackler described as a place where, “when you are feeling sad or alone, you sit. Friends see you and either sit with you or ask you to join them.”
It was something Demmel always wanted for the school playground.
“I know the staff will be sitting on it to talk to her as well,” Fackler said.
“I feel like Jill’s final gift to her daughter was room 116,” she said. “Jill will never be replaced, and that void will always be present…. As much as I know she didn’t want people to be sad for her, she comforted us with Ashley.”
Ashley said that the kids sometime tell her they miss her mom. Even though she is “Miss Demmel,” they often call her “Mrs. Demmel.” And that’s more than fine with her.
“I know she was my mom, but she literally was the best person ever,” Ashley said.
Still, school goes on—the pancake breakfasts, the school plays, the holiday fundraisers, the classroom parties.
“You can still feel Jill in room 116, and I think Ashley feels comfort in that,” Fackler said. “It was just meant to be. We needed her, and she needed us.”
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