When I first saw you, I thought you must have walked straight out of a Charles Dickens’ story. A character that was complex, rich, utterly mysterious and surprising: a picture of beauty in shawls and skirts and boots, and a name that matched your personality. I asked around, because I wanted to know more about this woman who walked everywhere tirelessly, and what she did for a living.
You were a professor of English, and you taught students how to analyze and write poetry and literature. I used to think I’d be a writer; that I’d major in English. I didn’t have the guts. It’s a hard life putting your soul on display, little pay. But still, I wanted to know you. You intrigued me. You inspired me. You walked so confidently in your long, colorful skirts, with a warm smile and friendly eyes. You were brave enough. You found happiness. You weren’t afraid to be yourself.
I never had the chance to take a class with you. My fast-track program wouldn’t allow it. I still don’t know if I made the right choice. Once I worked up the courage to talk with you at a student art show. We had a short chat about nothing really and I walked away feeling I had missed out. I should have asked you if you had a favorite poem, book, or a favorite author. Life is full of choices. Every opportunity taken is ten not pursued. I’d like to get to the end of my life and not have many regrets. I’d like to be content. Though I never knew you up close, this is what you taught me from a distance.
I cried when I learned of your passing. Even from a distance, I cried. I will remember you. I will make more courageous choices because of you. If I see you again, I’ll ask you what you like to read, what you’ve written, and I’ll tell you what I’ve been writing.