First grade was when I truly discovered my love for writing.

My teacher, Mrs. Cameron, handed out those old manila composition journals (remember those?) and gave us free reign each day to write about whatever our little seven-year-old hearts desired.

Unbeknownst to my classmates, we were in a serious competition to see who could fill up the most pages in one sitting.  Instead of utilizing my notebook as an actual free-flowing journal, at the top of each page, I picked a topic (real examples: My Mom’s New Baby, The Beach, Books, Bacon) and spent the page discussing that topic (I’m pretty sure the “bacon” entry discussed how delicious I thought bacon was- still think so).

I wrote in huge, loopy letters that took up two lines each. Needless to say, I went through several notebooks throughout the course of first grade. I’m not sure I understood the point of journal time, but it’s my earliest memory of writing and taught me that putting words on paper was something I wanted to be part of my life.

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A year or two ago I was out to dinner at a local restaurant with my family and saw Mrs. Cameron, my first grade teacher, along with some of my other elementary school teachers walk in and sit down at a nearby table. My family and I went over to say hello and learned that they all go out to eat at that same restaurant, that same table, every month. That made me so happy.

When I left dinner that night, I thought about Mrs. Cameron and those journals.

I thought about how I should send her an email and share with her that I’ve actually turned my passion for writing into a career. That I have this blog, where I share my innermost thoughts with the world.

I thought about how I should thank her. Thank her for laying that foundation. Thank her for giving us the time to write. For encouraging a room full of seven-year-olds with terrible penmanship and spelling to write about whatever we wanted every single day. Thank her for inspiring me.

I never sent that email.

There wasn’t a particular reason that I didn’t send it. I think I mostly just forgot. Went on with my life and didn’t think about it after that.

It happens.

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On Monday, I heard the terrible news that Mrs. Cameron suddenly passed away over the weekend.

She was young. Only in her 50s.

My heart wrenches for those first graders who came to school on Monday to hear unfathomable news about their beloved teacher. How do you even begin to explain that? There is no explanation.

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I wish I had sent that email.

I wish I had thanked Mrs. Cameron for the influence she had on me.

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I share this story because I hope today you’ll thank someone.

I hope you’ll let them know how much they inspire you. How they influence you. That you admire them.

Maybe you haven’t talked to them in years. Maybe you see them every single day. Either way, send that email. Mail them a card. Pick up the phone. Give them a long hug in person.

You’ll make their day. Maybe even their whole week, month or year.

Do it before it’s too late.

You won’t know the impact it may have on them…and you, until you do it.