Remembering a mentor’s passing

The call came out of the blue. I was busy trying to meet a deadline, but I picked up the phone anyway. A friend, who was a professor at the college where I had worked in the communications office several years earlier, called and peppered me with questions on why I wasn’t going back to get my master’s degree. I remember thinking that her questions were borderline rude.

In passing one day a few years back I had mentioned about going back to school and now she was grilling me on what I was doing with my time. Oh, sure I would’ve loved getting my master’s degree, but I had a lot on my plate. I had a young family and job demands. I was barely surviving as it was, how was I going to fit in classes every night of the week and studying on the weekend?

My friend, though, wasn’t taking no for an answer. She kept pushing and prodding. She was like a drill sergeant that demands ten more push-ups. She came out and asked point blank: “Why aren’t you signed up for the MBA information session? What do you have to lose?”

I feared saying something I would regret, so I told her that I had to go. Before I could get off the phone though she said she was signing me up for the information session the following week and that I had better show up. Yea, yea, I told her, writing it down on my calendar, but never really expecting to attend.

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How’d I get here?

Sure enough, a week later, I was standing in front of my friend and a another professor and she was telling me how I could take classes in the evening and, if all went right, I would be walking down the aisle with my diploma in hand in two short years.

I had earned my bachelors degree ten years earlier. My degree took everything I had and then some. I found it challenging fitting in a part time job and studying and still trying to have a life. Yes, I wanted to go back and get my master’s degree, but I wasn’t sure how I was going to do it a second time around with my wife and kids needing me too.

My friend wouldn’t take no for an answer. When I hemmed and hawed, she found reason after reason for me to attend. She threw my whines back in my face. For good measure, she even said that I would have her for my Business Ethics class. I joked that she would soon learn that I had no ethics, but she either didn’t hear me or chose not to answer. 

Taking the next step

Against my better judgement, I filled out the application, earned admission, and registered for classes. I made it that far and I still never expected to attend classes. I was fighting the idea of going back, right up until the first night. In the end, I suspect her will won out.

It was tough at first, but I learned that I actually enjoyed the classes. I could relate them back to my job. I learned too that I was a much more serious student this time. I concentrated on the work. I kept up with the reading and I didn’t have to swear off mid-week parties like I did as an undergraduate. Yes, I had to balance time with my wife and kids — I refused to sacrifice time with them — but it seemed to work.

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Two years later, just as she had predicted, I walked down the aisle with my degree, graduating with a 4.0 GPA. I still don’t know how I managed it. Yes, I learned a thing or two about debits and credits and business law too, but I learned a ton about myself. The degree is one of the things I’m proudest about, because it took a ton of work. We’ve lost the photo, but one of my favorite photos is me standing with my diploma with my kids.

A dark end to the story

Whenever I saw my friend after I got my masters, I would always thank her for her help, for sticking with me, for giving me the strength and courage I needed. She would always laugh and tell me that she was simply doing her job, to help students see the person they could one day become.

She seemed generally happy.

One of the last times I saw her on campus, we had a chance to meet up and she told me that she was tired. I told her that she needed to take better care of herself. I encouraged her to take a vacation.

She didn’t listen to me.

She was a college dean now and had a busy schedule, but I was still surprised when I came home one day and my wife asked if I had seen the news. My friend lost her battle with depression and had taken her life.

I was in a state of shock. (In some ways, I think I still am.) In that moment, I realized for the first time how deadly depression can be. I couldn’t believe that she wouldn’t be around anymore to do what she loved doing the most. She helped countless students over the years. When many of us needed a cheerleader, she was there for us, but when it came to her own life, she didn’t let anyone in to see that she was struggling.

I think of my friend every time I think of my degree. She played a big part in me earning it. I can’t bring her back, but I’ll never forget that she believed in me when I couldn’t believe in myself. She was a wonderful professor and an even better friend. I’ll never forget her.