If you ever visit Farmington Community School, you might notice a small bench near the playground carved with the words “In Memory of our friend Sandra Millman.”

When my son Benjamin was born, his sister Kristen was finishing preschool where Mrs. Millman was the secretary and the heart and soul of the school. If you’ve ever needed a secretary, or considered all secretaries do, then you know that without a good one, nothing runs right. No one gets registered, no one answers the phone with confidence and care, and no one feels good about leaving their children at school.

I often stopped by Mrs. Milliman’s busy office to pay tuition, ask a question, or see a friendly face. If I was upset for any reason, I needed only enter her office and talk to her to realize I had made the right preschool choice.

The last time I saw her, my son was just over a year old. She gave Benjamin a Clifford toy he had always loved. I remember thinking how nice that was, how difficult it would be to explain how much she meant to the school, and how much she had touched me in the short time I knew her.

I still have that stuffed animal and think of Mrs. Millman every time I see it.

Years after Kristen’s preschool days, I learned that Mrs. Millman had passed away. Shortly after retiring, her health troubles caught up with her.

How unfair that someone who put so much into her work did not get to enjoy her retirement. And how sad that I was never able to tell her how much she meant to me when I was there.

When I took Kristen with me to register Benjamin for summer school classes, she and I mused about how different it looked. I told Kristen Mrs. Milliman was the best thing about the school, even though she didn’t remember her.

Kristen and I went through the doors to the playground for old time’s sake. She wanted to stand where she stood during those preschool years, and to try out the monkey bars again. I, too, wanted to remember what it was like to go through those doors.

When we stepped into the sunshine, I was still thinking about Mrs. Millman. When I saw the bench, I knew I was not the only one who remembered her as a friend.