He was kind, caring, civically engaged (constantly writing letters to the editor and encouraging others to do likewise, working tirelessly on behalf of causes he believed in like expunging Nathan Bedford Forrest's disgraced name from our ROTC building), and the very epitome of a Lifelong Learner. He knew instinctively and implicitly what John Dewey meant when he said education is not preparation for life, but life itself.
He was a decade ahead of me. My goal now is to possess and express a fraction of his curiosity and enthusiasm in 2030. Just being here then won't suffice.
Just a decade, but I find myself experiencing almost-filial feelings of loss that remind me of my old dad's departure over a decade ago.
Shortly before my father's passing in 2008, I sat down with him and talked about things I'd long postponed. Then I read to him from an 1882 letter William James sent from abroad to his father on learning of the latter's illness:
Don got his message out, I think. And the best case for dreaming of "the other side" I can think of is the prospect of talking to him again. But like my own dad, Don's going to be with me for the rest of my life.
Shortly before my father's passing in 2008, I sat down with him and talked about things I'd long postponed. Then I read to him from an 1882 letter William James sent from abroad to his father on learning of the latter's illness:
"Darling old Father,
...We have been so long accustomed to the hypothesis of your being taken away from us, especially during the past ten months, that the thought that this may be your last illness conveys no very sudden shock. You are old enough, you've given your message to the world in many ways and will not be forgotten; you are here left alone, and on the other side, let us hope and pray, dear, dear old Mother is waiting for you to join her. If you go, it will not be an inharmonious thing. Only, if you are still in possession of your normal consciousness, I should like to see you once again before we part... though we have often seemed at odds in the expression thereof, I'm sure there's a harmony somewhere, and that our strivings will combine. What my debt to you is goes beyond all my power of estimating,—so early, so penetrating and so constant has been the influence... —As for the other side, and Mother, and our all possibly meeting, I can't say anything. More than ever at this moment do I feel that if that were true, all would be solved and justified. And it comes strangely over me in bidding you good-bye how a life is but a day and expresses mainly but a single note. It is so much like the act of bidding an ordinary good-night. Good-night, my sacred old Father! If I don't see you again—Farewell! a blessed farewell! Your WILLIAM."
Don got his message out, I think. And the best case for dreaming of "the other side" I can think of is the prospect of talking to him again. But like my own dad, Don's going to be with me for the rest of my life.
Our last communication:
Donald Enss
Sun, Feb 14, 1:12 PM (10 days ago)
to me
Dear Dr. Oliver,
Happy Birthday!
Don
Phil Oliver
Sun, Feb 14, 2:11 PM (10 days ago)
to Donald
Thank you, Don. You've inspired me to make the most of the years ahead.
And I'm not the only one.
Your comments about Don, your eulogy, resulted in me thinking about what I read and discussed in the A&P class about death and the meaning of life. I did not know Don, other than our brief encounter on the one Zoom meeting, but I know that you admired him. He was apparently, by all the philosophical standards for which we have a positive sentiment, a good man, who had a well-lived, flourishing life; I.e., eudaimonia.
ReplyDeleteWe think that philosophy matters. One way that it has mattered to me is by giving me a deeper understanding of death and the meaning of life. From my perspective now, death is nothing to fear. Everything is perishable. What is valuable to us is how we experience our existence before we inevitably perish. What is valuable to others is the opportunity to have in their experience the experience of the other.
Death is not just a time for sadness, it is a time for joy. The death of another that we know presents an opportunity for reflection. When we can see that the other had a good life, that fact should bring us joy. And likewise, we can reflect and see our good fortune at having experienced the other during the time they existed; to consider the value of, not just what we no longer have, but what we had in our lives. It is truly the time for a celebration of life. I regret that I will not have the opportunity to experience Don.
"Give us this day..." etc. "The days are gods," Emerson said, and that's probably the frame of mind he was in when he got so exhilarated crossing that bare common. Don made the most of every last day, as a scholar on the cusp of a degree. His son says he had 40 books to return to the library, and another on the way from amazon. That's the way we all need to exit, isn't it? Justy doing what we do.
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