As duly noted in my post, Random rants probably littered with profanity last week wasn't the best of weeks. I wasn't all cute, cuddly and full of positivity. No, I was kind of shitty. What I haven't had a chance to share was how a very wonderful email changed by attitude that day.
When I started this blog all I really had to do was to format some emails find pictures and copy paste text. It was pretty simple for me. But as the time of my father's illness and then his passing became further and further away, the shared stories or emails of condolences became fewer and fewer. It was expected, I'd been warned as we worked out way through the chaos of the wake and the funeral that once all the hubub died down and people left that then you'd really realize what had happened. Well, that slow down happens virtually now too.
This slowdown left me with a blog that I knew some people read, a bit of time on my hands and a need to do and learn something. I've pondered this before, here, so I'll stop rambling and get to the point.
Last Friday, I got another email with beautiful stories and thought about my dad that was wonderful, hopeful, surprising but tinged with sadness. It was a great reminder of the power of the internet, for you don't always know who's reading, listening or watching and how what you are doing can touch them in such a powerful way. Just check out this post by Michell Martin at The Bamboo Project about an email I sent in the haze of father's passing.
With Jayne (McCrea) Perzan's permission I share the following email.
Dear Sarah,
I'm so sorry to hear about Cookie's passing, and my deepest sympathies go out to you and your family.
I was in a class 7 or 8 weeks ago, and the first day was the general "meet and greet" with the instructor where everyone tells a little bit about themselves, and we all realize how many mutual acquaintances we have in common, etc. I mentioned that Bob was my cobol instructor when I first started programming, and the instructor informed us that Bob had passed away this spring. Of course it was an extremely awkward moment as tears welled up in my eyes, and I stared in disbelief that someone so full of life, so very special, could be gone.
I've been following your blog and trying to think of what to say, a story I could share to bring a "that's so Bob" smile, but I've been at a complete loss for words and embarrassed at my inability to express how very sorry I am.
I was one of the students lucky enough to have basic programmer training with Cookie at the HIG (I think it was 1997). He was a fantastic teacher, one of the rare ones that you're blessed to have only once or twice in your lifetime. I loved his stories, his warmth, his corny jokes. We spent weeks telling "bar" jokes back and forth - I was hooked the moment he started with "Three strings walk in to a bar. The first one takes a seat and asks the bartender for a beer..." - my all-time favorite joke. I spent many hours trying to find a new one to share that he hadn't yet heard. So many days started with us saying "Same bar, this time _ _ _ _ walks in to the bar" I think I finally told a new one with the panda that walks in to the bar and orders a sandwich...
He taught so much more than cobol, programming, jcl... he was an example of how to live life well, fill it with joy and laughter, and sprinkle in some sheer technical brilliance for good measure. Every day he told a story about his wife, his children, his friends, and there was always a twinkle in his eye when he spoke of those he loved. He was generous, and had us all over for a graduation picnic at the end of bpt, as well as inviting us to the 4th of July picnic. It was such a pleasure to spend time at their house, and he and Merrill made everyone feel welcome, like part of the family.
I know this is a long and rambling email, but I guess I've been avoiding saying the things I want to tell you. You, your father, and your family have been on my mind a lot this summer. I haven't known what words of comfort I could offer, and can't imagine the loss you must feel.
A few weeks ago, tragedy struck my family. My father was scheduled for a minimally invasive heart surgery at the end of July. He suffered many unexpected complications, and on Aug 10th, he passed away. My thoughts keep returning to Cookie, and to your family. At the time I started reading your blog, I had no idea that I would be losing my father, but I was drawn to the love you've shown, and the beautiful celebration of his life in the stories that were shared. But when I lost my father, and I started to try to understand my life without him, I began to rely on your writing as a way to cope, to learn how to still go on, and to feel a little less alone.
When it came time to make the arrangements, my mother was very concerned about my father's obituary. She did not want it to have only names and dates, but to express a little bit of who he was, how very much he was loved, and how sorely he will be missed. I printed Cookie's as an example of how we wanted my father's to be written. It brought a small smile in the sea of sadness, knowing that I'm still learning from Cookie, even after he's gone. Best teacher I've ever had, and a Super Cool Dude.
What I am trying to say, in an extremely clumsy way, is thank you. Thank you for sharing memories of Cookie, and showing how to miss and grieve someone you love with grace, humor, and openness. A special gift for teaching runs in your family, and you have a great impact on other people's lives just by being you. You have a special place in my thoughts for all of the things you're teaching by example, and the impact you've had on my life without ever knowing it, just like your father.
You are in my thoughts, and I wish you great strength and healing as you mourn the loss of your father. He was a wonderful man, and will be greatly missed.
Thanks Jayne! You are not alone in your grief and your email is a nice reminder to me that neither am I.
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