A Death in the Family

We returned to campus this Monday to learn that one of our colleagues in the English Department had been involved in a car accident on Easter Sunday. Her name was Amanda, and she was visiting her boyfriend in San Diego on the last weekend of Spring Break. They had gone for a drive in one of the boyfriend’s classic cars, a Porsche convertible from the 1950s. A driver who was apparently high on marijuana—the police claimed that the bowl was still warm when they arrived on the scene—crossed over the median and crashed into the car with Amanda and her boyfriend. The details were pretty sketchy when we first learned of the accident.

We got the news on Monday evening that the family was taking Amanda off life support; the doctors had given them no hope that she would ever be able to recover from the traumatic injuries that she had suffered in the crash. An email went out with the details that were available, but most of us learned the sad news by having friends call us before we learned it through email. We cried a lot that night as we shared the news with others. Thankfully, I had my boyfriend with me that day so that I didn’t have to drive home alone and could periodically burst into tears.

The next day, Tuesday, was one of the worst days I’ve ever experienced at work. I hugged almost everyone I encountered, and we started to cry. Any mention of Amanda’s name prompted tears. I tried to be strong—we all tried to be strong—but the pain was too much to bear. Tears were appropriate. You can’t be strong when you’re suffering.

Today was not so very different. I cried fewer times, perhaps, but I spent longer periods of time talking to my friends and colleagues. We needed to be in each other’s company, to acknowledge our bonds and feelings for each other. People would apologize for making someone cry, but honestly, just the mention of her name or a reference to one of her many accomplishments or a question about what would happen to her two young sons was all it took for me to burst into tears. No one needed to apologize; nothing is wrong with feeling grief about the loss of a beloved colleague.

People have posted lots of comments and pictures on Facebook about the impact that Amanda had on their lives. I couldn’t articulate what I was feeling; I couldn’t even respond to other people’s posts. No words seemed to convey the depth of sadness I and the others were feeling. So, as I sometimes do, I turned to poetry. On the Poetry Foundation’s webite, I located the poem “Præmaturi” by Margaret Postgate Cole, which captures some of the emotions that I’ve been having since we got the tragic news about Amanda.

When men are old, and their friends die,

They are not so sad,

Because their love is running slow,

And cannot spring from the wound with so sharp a pain;

And they are happy with many memories,

And only a little while to be alone.

But we are young, and our friends are dead

Suddenly, and our quick love is torn in two;

So our memories are only hopes that came to nothing.

We are left alone like old men; we should be dead

But there are years and years in which we will still be young.

Amanda was a talented poet, a gifted writer who had the ability to distill emotions in beautifully expressive language. She was a great teacher, an inspiring educator who was dearly loved by her students, students who learned from her so much more than just how to be better writers; they learned that they had value. She was a dear friend, someone who gave you her attention when she spoke to you and who always made you feel like your conversations were special and memorable. She was an amazing colleague, a respected and well-liked member of the department, the division, the college, the community. She brought our creative writing program back from the brink of extinction by founding a journal of the arts that has been embraced by the community of writers and artists on and off campus, by creating a series of readings on campus that bring many people out every semester to share and hear the gift of writing, and by establishing a true sense of camaraderie among students and faculty members over the joy of creative writing. 

Her legacy will be long-lasting and significant. We will miss her.