Esther Goff and Her Gift of Unconditional Love

We are lucky indeed if we experience unconditional love when young, because unconditional love helps heal the wounds inflicted by bad luck. Unconditional love creates antibodies in our souls that fight off the pathogens of abandonment, betrayal, depression, discrimination, divorce, failure, fear, grief, guilt, humiliation, loneliness, loss, poverty, regret, rejection, remorse, shame, etc., etc. These antibodies enable us to develop our gifts and experiences (however limited or painful they may be) and become uniquely useful to others who uniquely need our help and encouragement.

I had such an experience of unconditional love when I was a senior in high school. Esther Goff was my Honors English teacher. Miss Goff saw something in me I did not see, and she encouraged me to read books like 1984, Animal Farm, and The Fountainhead. They opened up vistas for me far beyond a working class background. Years later, I sent her poems I had written after an unforeseen divorce. Many years later, in 2004, I sent her word sketches about the soul-searing cost of my killing others in Vietnam. Shortly thereafter, Esther wrote:

Dear Jim,

You didn’t need to put on the envelope who you were—a student in my ’62 class. I remember you well! and I am so happy to have you back in my life, even so late! I am 91—living alone in my condo, a lovely place I enjoy. . . .

You are very vivid in my memories. Now and then I used to give you a ride home when I was on my way to Lake Adelle after school. Once at a class party at Lake Adelle, you and Phil Alderson discussed with passion Ayn Rand’s Fountainhead. You were on opposite sides of her philosophy. Remember? Long after your graduation, sometime weren’t you living in Colorado? I think I’m reminiscing correctly. You sent me some poems you wrote, didn’t you, and then one day, didn’t you write to tell me your wife left suddenly one morning—a total shock for you? Then I ceased to hear from you?

I had not known of your advanced education—Grinnell—Indiana—Utah—and then your legal career, so I am delighted to catch up on all that activity. I’m proud of you!

The Grinnell article was moving—its poignancy and pain penetrating. Thank you for including it. I am glad you did go back to Vietnam. Normandy High School lost some students there—and a few left for Canada. It was a senseless unnecessary conflict, as this horrible one is that we’re financing now. We should be weighted down by all those we have destroyed, both ours and theirs. Your War Sketches are vivid windows of tragedy and irony! If only we could imagine the sights through such windows beforehand, perhaps greater diplomacy and wisdom and the truth that we are all brothers, each of us part of mankind, would have prevented such insanity. As of this moment, I am just grateful you came back alive, productive, and dedicated to teaching—you sound as if it suits you. I’m glad. . . .

Before I close, I want to say your War Sketches would make fine essays, short stories, even poetry—and maybe an extraordinary novel about a war we must not forget. I hope we keep in touch.

Love,

Esther

Esther and I have kept in touch often since then. I have shared with her my work teaching conflict resolution in India and my reflections on war and killing in Iraq. Each time I publish something that I know is evocative and meaningful, I attach a note that says, “This would not exist but for you.”

In June, 2012, I saw Esther in an assisted living center in a St. Louis suburb. She had just moved there because at 98 years old she was too tired to cook for herself. Esther is still a strikingly handsome woman and is sharp as a tack, though very frail. She told me that she had to stop driving when she was 96. I told her how much I loved her and how important she has been in my life. When I left, she said, “I will never see you again.” Later, I wrote to her:

Dearest Esther—my beloved teacher, coach, mother, cheerleader, and treasured friend—I would not be who I am today, had you not borne my life so lovingly for nine months from September 1961 through May 1962. I love you more than I can ever repay. As the years go by, I try to pass on your gift of unconditional love by helping others give birth to the best in themselves.