HANEY, Robin
Posted: January 12th, 2024
ROBIN ALLEEN HANEY (née Reich) May 20, 1951 – January 10, 2024 We are devastated to announce Robin’s death. Sister, wife, mother, teacher, gardener, friend, Robin lived her life nurturing, nourishing.
Robin leaves to mourn her husband of over 50 years Peter, sons Matthew and James (Karen); beloved grandchildren Ayden (Amy), Ben, Madeline, Emma and Wyatt; brother Roger (Bev) Reich; many, many close friends; as well as cat Freddie and dog Doug, whom she adored.
Robin was born in Lethbridge to Alleen (Noble) and Walter Reich. Graduating high school from LCI, she subsequently earned a BA (English) (UAlberta) and Teaching Certificate (UCalgary). After retiring from teaching in 2016 Robin continued her volunteer service for Habitat for Humanity (Lethbridge).
Robin had so many skills, many to do with her home and garden. She demanded not to be remembered as a good baker, but she cooked and baked for family and friends, to celebrate high holidays and every day, to sustain those in need, to welcome neighbors.
Mum was, of course, much more than a wonderful homemaker. A skilled educator, she taught for over 30 years in schools across Lethbridge, much of it at Gilbert Patterson Middle School. Robin will be remembered by her colleagues and countless students for her dedication to learning, caring attention to each student, the treats she always kept in her desk, and for her impressive “teacher voice” when needed. She loved teaching Grade 8; she loved her students and their energy. She worked hard to provide them with a kind, calm and safe environment.
Above all, Mum, Robin, was a thoughtful, generous and caring wife, mother, daughter and friend. Robin was quietly devoted to her family, sacrificing much to be present and support her loved ones at every stage of their lives.
Robin’s days were marked by giving, humour, beauty and grace. We will miss her, every day.
Funeral arrangements will be announced when completed.
Flowers are gratefully declined. In lieu of flowers donations may be made to the Jack Ady Cancer Centre (CRH), 960, 19 Street South, Lethbridge, Alberta, T1J 1W5, or Habitat for Humanity, 20 Rocky Mountain Boulevard West, Lethbridge, Alberta T1K 8E1, or other charities serving all people.
We are profoundly grateful for the sensitive and professional care given Robin by the staff of the Lethbridge EMS, Jack Ady Centre, Palliative Care and ally agencies, and the Chinook Regional Hospital.
Visit www.mbfunerals.com to send a condolence.
I was a friend of Roger Reich growing up in Lethbridge. We lived just down the street ( 13 street south) from the Reich family and Robin was a great friend of my sister Cathy. Since I tried to ignore my little sister as much as possible in those days ( as would most older brothers!!), I did not know Robin well. It is obvious from her families remarks that she was a very special woman and let an exemplary life- my condolences go out to Roger and all of Robin’s family.
Tim Millar
I had Mrs. Haney as my grade 7 homeroom teacher at Gilbert Paterson in 1998/1999. In the obituary above it says she loved teaching grade 8 so I had to double check, but I’m fairly sure she was my grade 7 homeroom teacher because it was in her class that I ended up meeting a few friends whom I’m still close to to this day. For what it’s worth, I remember being in her classroom on April 20th, 1999 when the entire school went into lockdown mode because of what was happening in Columbine, Colorado. If I am mistaken on the grade 7/8 discrepancy, please forgive me, it’s been quite some time.
I’m posting this because I currently work in an education-adjacent field in Lethbridge handling archival documents, and the name Peter Haney kept coming up enough times that I had to see if he was any relation to the Mrs. Haney that I knew. That does appear to be the case, as evidenced by my discovery of this obituary. My condolences go out to those who might read this who were close to her.
I just want to say that, to this day, I remember the sound of her voice very well. It’s the kind of voice that sticks with you. She had a kind of dry, sardonic wit that I recognized and appreciated even in my formative years, but was very firm and could control a room when she needed to. I also wanted to say that there is one memory of her in particular that I hold close to me that may have changed the course of my life for the better, or at the very least made me a better person.
She had assigned the class to write a poem. I don’t recall anything more about the project than that, but I do recall that I chose not to complete the project, or to even attempt it, until the night before it was due. I happened to have watched the 1990 movie “Memphis Belle” on VHS either that very night or some recent evening prior, and in the film, one of the B-17 crew members reads a section of a poem to the rest of his crew before they fly what is to be their 25th and final bombing mission over Europe.
I decided that it would be easier to just write down the section of the poem which was recited in the film and hand it in the next day as my completed project. “What are the chances Mrs. Haney would know that poem?” I thought to myself.
Well, a few days later, at the end of class, Mrs. Haney asked me to stay behind for a few minutes to have a discussion. It was about the poem. She knew the poem, she knew who wrote it, and she wanted give me an ultimatum. “This,” she told me, “is called plagiarism,” before she then proceeded to inform me that she had every right at that moment to fail me not only from the assignment, but also from the class itself. My heart was in my throat.
“Going forward, not only in my class, but when you go on to do other things in life, you will face serious consequences if you choose to engage in presenting the work of others as your own. I want you to know that above everything else.” I am paraphrasing, of course, but she let that point hang in the air for an extended period of time. Needless to say I got the point. Never in my life, before or since, has someone so impressed upon me the consequences that my actions might have, or even taken the time to speak to me so directly about something that I was doing wrong. I suppose she must have registered my understanding, or knew that this must have been a one-off lapse of judgment on my part, because she instead offered to let me re-do the assignment, taking only whatever the penalty would have been for handing it in late, with the caveat that if I ever handed in something that had been so glaringly lifted from somewhere else, we would not be having a discussion about it in the same manner.
Her taking me aside like this is something I return to again and again in life, because it shows me that she cared about the direction my future went, and more so that she was a reasonable and gracious person (in the divine sense of the word). Yes, she could have failed me, but instead she chose to give me a second chance. You don’t get a lot of those in life. I think about this whenever I wonder if I’m taking things for granted, or not putting in the effort that I should be.
So I want to finish this by including the full poem that Danny from the film “Memphis Belle” read out loud to his crew before their final mission, as thanks to you, Mrs. Haney, for not shooting me down over it when you very well could have. Readers here can choose to impart meaning into this poem however they deem appropriate in this context, or not, but just know that I am not taking the time to write this condolence note, including the poem below, for no reason at all.
“An Irish Airman Foresees His Death”
I know that I shall meet my fate
Somewhere among the clouds above;
Those that I fight I do not hate
Those that I guard I do not love;
My country is Kiltartan Cross,
My countrymen Kiltartan’s poor,
No likely end could bring them loss
Or leave them happier than before.
Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,
Nor public men, nor cheering crowds,
A lonely impulse of delight
Drove to this tumult in the clouds;
I balanced all, brought all to mind,
The years to come seemed waste of breath,
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death.
– W.B.Yeats, 1865 – 1939