By Erica Fischer-Kaslander

One of my first female role models outside of my family died last week. She was almost 94 years old. I was blessed to have parents who ensured I had the opportunity to meet and interact with people who would typically have been outside of the usual social scene of an elementary-aged child.

I don't remember when I first met Faye, but I’d guess I was probably somewhere between five and eight. She was likely 65 when I hit my own double digits: 10. We spent many days over the years working on projects together and organizing functions; she even let me tag along to help plan and attend special events. I felt seen and special.

Despite her small stature, Faye commanded any room she entered. The saying “though she may be little, she is fierce,” perfectly describes her. In fact, one of my most exciting pre-teen moments was when I grew to the point I was officially taller than Faye. (I’m quite sure I took more pleasure in this milestone than she did.)

Thing is, Faye didn't spend time with me because it was a way to "leave a legacy" or to "make an impact." She spent time with me – saw me, valued me – because it was the right thing to do.

Time passed, and I grew up, got married, had children, and dove into my career. Yet, several years ago, Faye traveled from her retirement home several states away to surprise me and celebrate a special milestone together.

Looking back, I see just how much I learned from her, much more than I realized at the time. After all, Faye was from a different religious background, a different generation, and a different walk of life. At the time, though, she was simply my Faye.

I know now that to fully appreciate the nature of our relationship, I had to grow up. I had to be able to take a step back in order to look back. When I heard of Faye's passing, it gave me pause. First, about the sweet soul no longer with us and then, caught a bit by surprise, what became a deep reflection on just how impactful that unlikely relationship was — even without realizing it at the time – 10-year-old Erica and feisty Faye, a petite Jewish lady in her late 60s. That relationship has been with me more than 30 years and, although she’s gone now, she really never will be for me. I’m not sure Faye ever knew how impactful she was. This Women’s History Month, her story is forever part of my history.

I can’t help but think how, as advocates, CASA volunteers experience a similar challenge: The youth they work with may not always readily see the work they do or appreciate the actual life impact for many years. Maybe even into adulthood. No matter when or if it’s seen, I can assure all of our volunteers that their caring, consistent presence is felt. It leaves its mark that will one day become part of something larger – either subconsciously or consciously. Keep on keeping on, and trust the process. Be someone’s Faye.