Normally I try and write something for Remembrance Day (part of which this year was spent drinking beer at the local
A.N.A.F. Club, where I believe we will be visiting quite often in the future), but I've been too gloomy to do so. This
has a good deal to do with why. Weirdly enough, I think I'm more comfortable with my mortality than with the mortality of others.
In grade school my twin brother and I were friends with one of the sons of the teacher Gord talked about, and we used to go over to their place for sleepovers, usually spent hopped up on sugar playing SNES Mario Kart and listening to the Offspring (I think I just dated myself). In high school, I took computers with Ms. Thielman for five years, and everything Gord says about her as a teacher is absolutely true. Getting a phone call from my mom earlier this week letting me know that she was suddenly diagnosed with liver cancer - which only gave her two more weeks after she found out about it - was a nasty shock. It's bad enough when one of your old teachers die (there's something rather unique about that particular pain), especially if they're related to an old friend. But cancer is supposed to be slower. It's supposed to at least give you one last chance to talk to the person, to let them know how much you appreciated them. I found out about this the day Ms. Thielman died. I really, sincerely hope that she knew how much those of us who knew her as a teacher and as a mom liked and valued her. And I hope my old friend who I haven't seen in years is holding up okay.