A Passage

Why is it we don't realize the impact someone had on us until they are gone?

I received an email today, notifying me that one of my chem professors, William Randall, passed away last week. You know, I can't really remember a single thing he taught me even though I remember having fun in his classes and labs. What I do remember is, Professor Randall was an understanding man.

That's me, in front with the stripey socks.

My senior year, I was living off campus with my sister, rowing on the varsity crew team, working a federal work study job, and finishing my chemistry degree (and baking on weekends). I cooked my own meals and I biked everywhere. I left the house at 5 am and returned after 7 pm. I once mentioned to my sister that I can't seem to do all the things I did that year and she reminded me that I slept most of the time.  And it's true.  Every spare minute, I was napping. On the bus, at my desk before class, hunched over a piano in the music building or my computer keyboard, practically any time I stopped moving, I was asleep.  The lounge in the science building was particularly comfy and quiet ('cause nobody but us science nerds knew about it). I would push two arm chairs together and curl up in the nest they created and nap until class time.  Professor Randall would usually stop by my nest to wake me up before class.  If he got there earlier that usual, he would let me sleep and then would send a classmate out right before class started to wake me up.

Professor Randall loved music and opera. He started coming to choir concerts after I joined his class. He came to my junior and my senior recitals.  I remember eating lunch in the dining hall and he joined me and we talked opera and music the whole time.

A few years ago, I ran into him at the grocery store.  He asked how I was doing, what I was doing. I explained that I was working in an office downtown, not doing anything with chemistry. I waited for the inevitable, "Why didn't you continue with chemistry?" speech (I've given it to myself many times).  Instead, his only response was, "But you're still singing, aren't you?"

Yes, Professor Randall was an understanding man. He understood that I was sleep-deprived, he understood when I wrestled with a concept or a lab. He understood that, when I struggled to keep my eyes open, it had nothing to do with him and chemistry and everything to do with me and the punishing schedule I was trying to keep.  And, he understood that while chemistry was something I was interested in and enjoyed learning, music is a part of my soul.

He understood, and it is a pity that I didn't, not really, until today.