Karla Frizler Octavio

Devon & I worked together as ESL Instructors at Torrance Adult School since 2003, and in that time we became good friends. I spoke with or saw her on an almost daily basis for the past few years, and her passing has left a tremendous hole in my heart.

In my entire career, I have never worked with anyone as dedicated, creative, productive, dynamic, powerful, sweet and friendly. She was a visionary who was always looking for new and interesting and more-effective ways of doing things. In that way, we were very similar, champions of thinking outside the box ... constantly challenging our students, our colleagues, our bosses ... ourselves. And having fun along the way! But Devon was different than me. I'm a bull in a china shop. She had a way about her that was so damn sweet and completely disarming. You didn't know she was convincing you to do something or agree to something. I never heard ANYONE say no to her. Never. She just had that certain charisma, that intangible something that drew people to her and made them want to be part of whatever plan she was concocting.

Devon & I began our relationship with me as her mentor, but that dynamic quickly shifted. We ended up mentoring each other. I couldn't believe how much I learned from this "young girl" (I'm 13 years older). I taught her about teaching strategies using technology, dealing with people's fears, etc., but she taught me patience and understanding and how important it is to encourage people even if their ideas are wacky or unrealistic. It didn't matter. Passion is passion, and if she saw even a shred of passion or interest from a student or teacher, she ran with it. I loved that about her. It was just simply her nature to look at the positive in everything and everyone.

After Devon stopped driving, we carpooled to and from work a couple days each week. I cherish those memories now. Sometimes we hatched work plans, other times we talked about American Idol, and lately we talked a lot about things like medical marijuana. But we always talked, and we always laughed. Well, almost always.

I'll never forget one Monday morning in May this year. Over the prior weekend, it was announced that Senator Ted Kennedy had been diagnosed with a glioma. All the news reports seemed to focus on the fact that it was a death sentence. Coward that I am, I was dreading the ride to work the next morning with Devon, and secretly hoped it wouldn't come up. But, being who she was, Devon got into the car and immediately asked me, "Do you think everyone thinks I'm going to die, just like Ted Kennedy?" I responded, "No. I think everyone thinks if anyone can beat cancer, YOU can." She smiled at me, and we proceeded to talk about Britney Spears or some other innane topic for the rest of the drive.

Devon was my colleague, my friend, my "little sister," and "Auntie Devon" to my 3-year-old daughter, Mia. Telling her that Devon passed was one of the hardest things I've ever done. In her infinite wisdom, Mia hugged and kissed me and said, "We miss Auntie Devon. It will be OK, Mommy."

Devon--I will never forget you and all the lessons you taught me, and I vow to make sure you are remembered at school and in my home. You were one of a kind and I feel so blessed to have known you for the time that I did. I love you and miss you terribly, and send all my love to your family and friends.