Christine explained that in the final weeks of Dave's life, his wife would sit outside of the room as he attended class to ensure that if there was a problem, she would be there to help him. Luckily, he was able to complete the classes without incident and passed away while remaining engaged in one of his favorite passions: art history.
I was always comfortable having Dave sit near me, he usually would place himself in the back of the class, leaning against the wall in a slouching manner that betrayed his age. He read all the assignments and poured over them to understand subtle nuances of art historian jargon and intellectual mazes of theory and criticism. He understood it all and helped me to understand what I could absorb as well. To his credit, he even understood what Roland Barthes was trying to say about that damn spaghetti advertisement that Christine made us read. He was an art historian of the gentle sort, learning about the past for the love of the knowledge and the purity of the appreciation for high art. Through his eyes, art history took on its richest colors and its most delectable stories. He gave the rest of us permission to stop and look at what has come before us.
On a personal note, I look back at that last year with Dave and wonder I was in such a hurry to get things done, move from one thing to another and not stop and spend some time talking to my friend. It's not that I don't know how to be with people who are dying; all of my paternal family and most of my mother's 17 brothers and sisters have passed away and I've been there to see it and be part of it. But in Dave's case, why didn't I stop and take the time to listen, to ask questions, to document a life that is now over?
NPR has a fund-raising gig going on right now, and one of the rewards for donating money to the organization is the book and CD entitled, " Listening is a Gift of Love" which recounts thousands of stories of ordinary people in this day and age. I listen to stories of people whose ordinary lives had moments of everything from passion to power. I wonder why I didn't take the time to listen to try and tell Dave's story in his own words, when supposedly I'm supposed to hear and see what's going on around me. I missed an opportunity to give a gift that keeps on giving long after the occasion has passed.
Dave's buried out at Fort Logan National Cemetery in Englewood, and it's my mission now to go there and find Dave and say "hi." I also am trying to track down his widow and hope she has a few moments to tell me about her husband, who he was and how he lived his life.
Christine says Metro State College is looking into awarding Dave a posthumous degree in art history that would be announced at next spring's commencement. He had earned all the credits he needed save for his senior experience/thesis credits. Seems to me like he earned the ultimate senior experience/thesis credits during finals week and probably now is pow-wowing with Roland Barthes and asking him to explain further that damn spaghetti advertisement.
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