Tuesday July 17, 1990
Jen O died at her Mom’s house
on Monday. She was twenty. I took it as my duty to tell our teacher.
I said nothing during
class. I stayed in my chair until the
normal after-class-crowd left. I asked
him if we could talk about a personal matter and he said we could. I told him what happened to Jen and where she
was when she died. I apologized for not
knowing when it happened, if she died in her sleep or if she was conscious and
talking to people right up until the end, all I knew was that she died. I also told him where they were sitting
shiva.
I had the sense that Mr.
Frisch was not the sort of man to cry or display those types of emotions in
front of someone like me. There was
resignation and calm in his face as he said, “She fought so hard for so long,
didn’t she. Her cancer was
terrible. I’m sure she fought it with
everything she had. And now she’s gone.”
“Yes sir,” I said.
We were in one of the library
seminar rooms. Frisch had a reputation
for getting the best classrooms and so far, after only being in one class with
him I think there is some truth to that.
There was a big window in this room providing us with a good view of a
perfectly clear summer sky.
“And it’s a beautiful day,”
said Professor Frisch.
“Yes sir.”
“I’ve been here since the
early 60’s and your friend ranked pretty highly. I’d say she was in my Top 5 NIU
Undergraduates of all time.”
I’m not sure how he ranked
students like that, especially undergrads, but I’m sure he meant what he said.
We looked out the window and
Professor Frisch continued, “She was talented, funny, motivated and could see
clearly important things like right and wrong.
Jen listened as if words you spoke were precious metals that had to be
weighed and measured. If they were worth
something, she acknowledged their worth.
If she questioned them, they were good questions and if she found
problems with your position she told you so.
And she was too damned young to die.
She fought hard for the things she believed in as hard as she fought for
her very life at the end. Now she is
gone…and you are still here.”
“Yes sir,” I said.
“You would do well to
remember this from time to time Ed.”