My college advisor passed away suddenly, unexpectedly. He was 57 years young.
I met Mr. D before I even got accepted to my college, and I remember him above all else from my freshman orientation. I don't call him Mr. D here to keep his name secret -- it's what I always called him. I spent four years in his classes, in his office, on journalism trips with him, and at twice-weekly production nights for the campus newspaper. He probably knew I would spend the entirety of my college career devoted to a journalism major only to discover an entirely different calling after graduation, but he always encouraged me to write and to take on leadership roles.
Mr. D touched the lives of many, many students, all of whom have been on the web tonight to reconnect in the effort to share our memories of our well respected mentor and friend. But his obituary says he left behind only one sibling and two nieces, and for some reason this makes me feel sad.
This is not a news article I'm writing here; surely, if it were, I would hear Mr. D's voice in my head and know to rework the lede. I'm sorely lacking in inverted pyramids here. I'm just blogging.
Blogging is something I do for me, perhaps one of the very few things I do just for me, and it's a unique writing style. But like all the kinds of writings that I do, my blogging bears the imprint of my college advisor, Mr. D.
I am saddened by his passing. I am grateful for his lessons.
Monday, June 2, 2008
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I'm so grateful that he made such a loving imprint on your existence. Thank you for writing about Mr. D. and sharing him with us. I'm sorry for his passing.
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