I think most of you know I met Jen my first day working in Baltimore City Schools in 2002. I vividly remember my first glimpse of her– joyful, skipping, wearing those Jesus shoes, excited to be back with the kids and to have the year start. We were kindred from the jump. We carpooled to and from school everyday for 3+ years, we had to schedule for the aux. Alternating between Ani DiFranco, the Violent Femmes, Phish, old folk, Cake, 10,000 Maniacs and rly anyone Lilith tour. We found each other every free period and went for happy hour weekly to decompress.

I am proud to say I loved my students almost as much as Jen did. I tried to reserve just a bit of myself to protect my heart while Jen was incapable of that. She loved her students more completely than any of the thousands of teachers I have worked with and trained. Jen wasn’t a no-nonsense nurturer. She was an occasional-nonsense nurturer. She brought fun, playfulness and hope to Baltimore City middle school students with learning differences. The kids who had so often been failed or forgotten by the system until they got to her and she taught them to find fun in learning. She explicitly taught kindness in her classroom alongside reading and math.  She prioritized relationships over paperwork and was brilliant at meeting students where they were at and bringing them along to where they needed to be. Jen was once horrified during state testing when monitors came in and were chatting with students about the test and Jen’s student piped up with: ‘It was easy! Ms Delaney gave us the answers’. Because the extra special thing about Jen as a special educator is she taught students to understand their learning differences and needs so clearly that they could articulate those needs in all settings. Her student Kyle once told us it felt like Jen gave him the cheat codes to school. I have never and will never know a better special educator. I couldn’t teach someone to be an educator like Jen, because Jen was truly born to teach. It was in her being. 

We were both transplants from large Northern Irish Catholic families, raised in the fine Gaelic art of storytelling, where stories are always better with a bit of embellishment. I felt like I knew Bob, Dianne, Jess, Bobby, Ryan, Kara, Aunt Maureen, Meg, Nancy and Danny (Kara, why can’t we remember the uncles’ names?! She said them too) through Jen’s stories of their adventures, misadventures, and occasional disasters. The Olivers taught Jen about the family you choose, thank you my family was a beneficiary of that learning. Whenever one of the Glaros boys says something particularly blonde, one of us still says, “Wicked smaht, Jen” because Jen always the story of her little brother saying it to her with a laugh. In her love for her brother and sister, I saw a mirror of my own love for my brothers. Working with Bobby had given her the drive and desire to become a teacher. Her sister was her touchstone, the person who grounded her, she was so proud of the work Jess did and the daughters she was raising. She loved her nieces, Tatum, Rowen and Payton each in their uniqueness and brilliance. Our last conversation was about her trip home for her mother’s 75th birthday and the joyful chaos that ensued. She was so happy that she got to see her whole family, especially her nieces. Jen’s family raised her to be a resilient, independent, self-sufficient, joyful woman.

While I had at least my brother Erich in DC, Jen missed her family, Kara, and home deeply. We missed the mountains, the fall, and snow together, and we laughed when our students complained that we were torturing them by sending them outside for recess when it was 40 degrees– In Maine and northern New York, that would have been a balmy spring day. We both carried our northern families with us, and we returned from summer vacations recharged– me from the Cape and the Adirondacks. She from the Lake and from adventures with Kara.

Jen loved a deal, over-researched every purchase to death, and hated waste. My favorite example of this was her first new car. It had to be a standard transmission, American-built in a union shop and reliable. These were early internet days and she had a hand-drawn chart with each of her options- every detail sketched out. She settled on her purple Matrix, which I had to accompany her to pick up, because in all of her research and self-sufficiency, Bob Delaney’s daughter had yet to learn to drive a standard transmission car before she bought it.  I can sincerely say, she stalled out less than 10 times in her first lesson and had it down in 2 days. I couldn’t have asked for a better student. The bonus of the standard transmission was when an especially challenging middle schooler (not one of her students) took her keys and tried to steal her car, he only managed to pop it into neutral and roll it across the lot. I will never forget the overhead call– Ms. Delaney it seems your car has run away in the parking lot.

As parents, you feel like your children can never get enough love. Jen loved my children with tender ferocity. She became our home away from home. Corbett was her buddy, she listened to all of his stories like only an auntie can, hanging on every word. She was his Jen. Not his mom’s friend. His Jen.

When Jen started dating Shannon the night our second son, Reid, was born, I was a bit worried we might lose her. Instead, Jen just grew our family more.  Reid was not as outgoing a baby, preferring my arms alone. Except for Jen, in nearly every picture you will see they are holding hands. So It’s only right that Reid was the first Glaros to fall in love with Shannon, followed quickly by the rest of us. Because, how couldn’t we love someone who looked at her like that, made her laugh until her toes curled, filled her life so perfectly without asking her to change or conform.

When Finn and Ada came along, we shared our maternity leave. We spent most days together. Running errands, doing laundry, chatting, and drinking tea while we nursing our babies. When I went back to work part-time, Jen could be seen with a baby on her front and one on her back. Singing to them as she walked to the park or library. I have so many blurry pictures people sent me from this time.

The best part of maternity leave with Jen was that she was so fun. Every silly errand could become an adventure. One cold morning she came pounding on my front door and dragged us out of the house in our pajamas because there was a pink polka-dotted cupcake truck down the street. We all learned from Jen that any baked goods are fair games for breakfast, especially pie.

Jen’s greatest joy was motherhood.

Some of my favorite memories are the simplest ones. The six of us berry picking. No grand plan. Just kids with stained fingers, buckets tipping over, and Jen fully in her element– in nature. She never rushed it. She let the kids wander, taste more than they collected, and take ownership of the experience. She pointed out what was ripe, what needed more time, what was worth waiting for. It was never really about the berries. It was about being together, paying attention, and letting the moment unfold.

But let’s be clear Jen absolutely had a berry goal as well. There was fruit to put up for winter, jam jars to fill, pies to bake. Somehow, she held both. Presence and purpose. Joy and follow-through. Jen had a way of turning ordinary afternoons into something that stayed with you, and something that fed you long after.

Ada and Max, you are living reflections of your mother. You are curious, sharp, funny, kind, and deeply attuned to the world around you. Your mom saw who you were from the very beginning and never tried to make you smaller or easier. She delighted in your differences. Ada’s openness and warmth meant that public reading wasn’t always going to be a quiet activity, so Jen leaned into it and made friends with every mother Ada brought her way. Max needed space and motion and wildness, so she met him there, often on that big orange cargo bike, heading off to the zoo, the aquarium, Port Discovery, or to a skatepark when other mothers might have thought he was too young. What mattered most to Jen was not managing them, but knowing them. And maybe the most remarkable thing she did as a mother was raise you to truly cherish one another. I can see it in how you look at each other, your private jokes, how you move through the world together, how you comfort one another, and how deeply you love your people. I am more grateful than ever for you.

I would be remiss if I did not bring up Jen’s tenacity (cough: stubbornness). Once she decided on something and dug in, it would be happening that way. Did we mention she was Dianne & Bob Delaney’s daughter? Jen trusted her body and her strength. Ada’s birth took forever so when she was in labor with Max we could not get her to go to the hospital. It was a beastly hot May day and she called me while walking around the neighborhood. After about 10 minutes, I decided I better start timing when she would have to stop talking. Yep, just about 2 minutes apart. I fussed at her to get home, get her bag and get going. She said she would call when they were leaving.  40 minutes later I called her again and she was still home. After sincerely yelling at her, and in return being threatened with not being welcome in the delivery room, Shannon was finally able to bustle her to the car. I headed to the hospital too, as I walked toward the L& D desk, I heard Jen yell and then Max’s first cry. Shannon had barely made it to the room before Max was born. Less than 16 minutes from hospital door to first breath. But he got the the natural uncomplicated birth she had planned.

So when Jen decided to work at FSK, it was going to happen. She started volunteering at FSK Reading Partners in 2015, and by that fall she had a new home. FSK was a place that finally saw how remarkable she was as a special educator. It became such a home that she was able to bring her daughter there for middle school. She found colleagues who trusted her, friendships that mattered, and work that honored who she was. And after living in the community for over 20 years, that’s where she reached South Baltimore icon status. She loved this city. She was proud to be a member of our community– South Baltimore, Federal Hill prep, FSK. Somehow the girl who loved nature found her home here among the row houses. 

Kara told us about their adventuring when they were young. Jen took that same energy and fun-loving spirit and layered it with her kids’ favorite things. For the past two summers, Jen, Ada, and Max drove all over the country chasing roller coasters. Dollywood. Cedar Point. Branson. Hershey. And dozens of others that required questionable routing and excellent snacks. These trips were planned days before they left. Just as Kara described, Jen treated missed exits, long lines, and travel mishaps as part of the fun. If everything went perfectly, it would not have been nearly as good a story.

Jen’s Girl Scout name was Dandelion, because of course it was. She loved dandelions in every stage, the tight green buds full of potential, the bright yellow bursts of joy, and the fragile white heads waiting for a breath of wind, or better yet the breath of a child, to carry them somewhere new. Where others saw weeds, Jen saw resilience, beauty, and possibility. She recognized strength where others saw difficulty. She understood that things dismissed as ordinary or inconvenient often hold quiet power. Jen lived that way. She loved people that way. In remembering her, may we slow down enough to really see one another, to value what is often overlooked, and to help goodness travel further than we ever could alone.

I was blessed to be in Jen’s tribe. My family was blessed to be part of hers.  I am proud to stand in front of this room and speak for her, surrounded by the people who loved all of her so fiercely. Remember to be kind, ride like the wind, and wear comfortable shoes with silly socks. That was our Jen. And we are all better for having known her.