My old creative writing professor is dying. She was diagnosed with Stage IV pancreatic cancer, which is usually terminal. This was a few months ago. I assume, because I haven't heard anything, that she has neither improved nor passed away. Over my four years as an undergrad (actually, in three years as an English major), I had her for nine courses and TA'd for her twice. Ultimately, it was probably under her direction that writing turned from a hobby into work, and she probably saved me years of toiling away on a novel I never would have finished. I'm grateful for that, as miserable as ended up being, because it pushed me into pharmacy, and I know I'll be happy there. I might write a novel some day, but I can't do it for a living.
The Kaiser that I work at is literally a block from the college that I went to. Last week on one of my breaks I walked over to the campus. A lot has changed - new buildings, improved buildings, landscaping. Two disgusting ponds were turned into one really nice one. Many professors that I had are gone. The last place I went was to this professor's office. It hasn't changed a bit. It looks like she just stepped out to give a lecture or meet with an aspiring writer. Seeing that saddened me, and I wanted to share the emotion.
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