This is NOT Over

Here is a life in desperate need of a rimshot

July 17, 2012

 

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.”  

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