RIP

Last night my father emailed me a URL to the obituary of my high school guidance counselor, who passed away December 17th from lung cancer.

Mr. N was a great friend to me during my teen years: a safe adult who was not my parents, who listened with respect and compassion to all my teenage angst and confusion, who continually affirmed his faith in me and in my future and my intelligence and goodness.

I was in shock as I read the obit. I saw Mr. N a couple of times after graduating, and was able to tell him how important he'd been to me, how much I valued our conversations -- but it's probably been a decade since the last time I'd seen him. My grief about his death is intensified by the fact that I hadn't even known he was ill. I would have driven back to my hometown to visit him, had I known.

And then there is the way of his death. For some reason, lung cancer seems particularly awful to me -- and I didn't think he smoked.

It took a few minutes for the truth, the finality of it, to sink in last night, and then I started crying for a good man who touched my life so deeply and with such love and generosity. I'm crying again as I type this.

I'm angry that I didn't know about this earlier. Angry that I wasn't able to visit him, angry that I missed the funeral and the chance to pay my respects and share my grief with others who knew him.

Quote of the Day

From jediyinyang:

Old habits die hard. Make sure they stay down.