Stopping

Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me.
(Emily Dickinson)

It's been a sad week. I and many friends and colleagues attended the memorial service for Dr. Linda Vecchi this morning. It was a very moving ceremony, with Linda's favorite music and thoughts read aloud from people who were closest to her, especially her husband and two beautiful young girls.

In life, she was a passionate, caring, intelligent woman, and she was way too young to have been stricken with cancer. Of course, no age is right for cancer or death. And I suppose right and wrong have nothing to do with it. It's just the way of things.

I learned more from my dear friend and mentor, Linda, than from any other teacher I've had. When I first began my life as a university student, she was a young, fresh-faced professor, eager to help and to teach and to befriend. She did all of those things well and continued to do them for as long as I've known her. When my own father passed away in early 1995, Linda was the member of faculty who was kindest to me. I was not one for talking about such things, especially to profs, but she found a way to let me know her door was always open to me and that she genuinely sympathized. She had a kindness that I've rarely experienced in academia or in life. She loved what she did because it was more about the people--the students and those around her--than about the books and the adminstration.

If you asked Linda for a minute, she'd give you an hour.

When I'd gone away for a few years and came back to MUN, it was Linda who'd volunteered to be my mentor as a first-time university teacher. She attended some of my classes, offered her valuable assessments, wrote amazing letters of recommendation, and encouraged me every step of the way. When I began a doctoral program, she made sure I knew she was there if I ever needed to talk. And we often did talk about life, about work, about people, what was right and what was wrong, about the state of things.

I often was reminded that she did this for a lot of people in her life, not just for me. And I always came away amazed that she'd not only taken the time, but seemed to enjoy it, even when I knew she was tired.

The day I defended my Ph.D. dissertation, she had to teach a class, but she gave me a huge hug as I was on my way and assured me that I would be great. In fact, her husband Mark, whom I also consider a friend, was there and, as always, equally encouraging, always with kind words.

Today, we celebrated Linda's life, but I couldn't help thinking how fragile it all is and, in some ways, how worthless it all is, the "empire of dirt" that Trent Reznor calls it in "Hurt"--all the stuff with which we surround ourselves and worry ourselves over. Part way through the ceremony, I was almost overwhelmed with the urge to just get up and bolt out the doors, away from the sounds of death and sorrow, towards those of life and happiness.

But I didn't. Because Linda wouldn't have done that. Linda would have stayed and given you an hour.

As the years have gone on, many students every semester ask, "Who should I take courses from in English?" Linda Vecchi was always at the top of my list. Now there are others on the list, but there's a vacancy at the top. And a vacancy in a lot of lives, including my own.

I know this has nothing to do with my teaching this semester. But I also know that some of you reading this are interested in more than just comma splices and research essays. And I know that the readership here consists of current students, former students, and people all over the country and the world who are just interested and never have been my students. Maybe some of you even knew Linda or were lucky enough to be taught by her (she breathed life into the Renaissance like no else could).

But it wouldn't be honest of me, or right of me, not to acknowledge the passing of such a good person and friend. It's always extra sad when a teacher dies, especially a good teacher, because you know she touched many, many lives along the way. I told her often when she was alive what a difference she had made to me and, likely, to others. She would just smile and say, "Thank you for saying that."

She'd probably say the same thing now.

Back to work now. I'll post more on the research papers as soon as I can wrap my head around it. But for now, a pause was necessary.

GC