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My new friend

I don't pretend to understand the universe or to have the full capacity to comprehend why some things happen, why some things don't.

Last year, after more than a decade as a journalist, I uprooted myself from Texas and started a new adventure in New Orleans - law school. Needless to say, the transition was very bumpy. I had to learn how to study again, how to be a student, how to be around people that wanted to be lawyers (eck!)

On any new adventure, it's always nice to find a comfortable spot along the way - especially with a friendly face - to help you make sense of your new-found chaos.

I don't know why I gravitated toward my contracts professor. She just seemed very grounded, very real, and yet extremely approachable. She had recently battled cancer - and won! - so she was also one tough broad. In other words, my kinda gal.

I found myself in her office often. Sometimes, I was seeking help to make sense of the law, but most often, I was just looking for someone to help me make sense of my new world.

She and I had communicated over the summer by e-mail. I told her I couldn't wait until school started so that I could come into her office again and she could help me sort things out -- from what classes to take to my job hunt to what kind of lawyer I wanted to be.

In early August, I received word from school that my professor had been injured in a swimming pool accident and had died of massive brain injuries. I don't know why the cosmos would put her through cancer only to snatch her away in a freak accident. As I said earlier, I just don't understand.

I was still up in NYC finishing my summer job when word reached me of her death. I e-mailed another of my professors to ask about funeral arrangements, if there was going to be a memorial service, what her family was doing, etc. That professor told me that everything was taken care of, except for her two cats.

And you all know the rest of the story.

I now have a cat. While I love having animals out on the farm, I've never personally wanted an indoor cat in my own home, especially an extremely furry, hairy beast like the one I've got now.

But it was the thing to do. It was the only thing to do. It's my way of grieving and coping, I guess, since I can never again go into my professor's office and ask for advice. Instead, I come home to her cat every day. He's no substitute for my professor, but there is a sense of peace and solace that coming home each day to her cat provides.

My professor's office was a comfortable place for me to go to learn, to escape, to figure things out in the wild and crazy world of law school. And now, hopefully, my home can be a new home for a thing she loved so dearly.

Posted by Lara Richards at 10:39 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)