They buried Daniel this week. I cried at the thought of him being gone. My mother said, “as you get older it happens more and more” – you are saddened by the loss of people that you didn’t even realize had such a profound impact in your life. He was everything the folks at his memorial said of him: kind, loving, intelligent, witty, gentle, brilliant and loved.
I worked with Daniel for over 20 years and was pleased to congratulate him when he got tenure. His voice was so alluring. The tone of his words were naturally calming. You wanted to hear him. He could tell a student that they would be a successful scholar, they just needed to try harder, and make it sound magical because he meant every word.
I wish I could have known Daniel more intimately. Especially after hearing about all the fun he had with his closer friends. Apparently he enjoyed a good time without regret. I think he lived his whole life that way.
As I was driving to his memorial, I thought of Elton John’s song (Daniel) and how I wanted to listen to it very loud in celebration of the professor’s legacy. Later his younger sister shared the story of when she was in grade school and her very cool, high school-aged brother introduced her to Elton’s song. That song has since been very special to her and will remind me of Daniel from now on.
I thought that Daniel was a couple years younger than me, making his sudden death even more sobering. Actually, he was two months my senior about to enter the final year of his fifth decade. “Daniel, my brother, you are older than me.” We had many things in common an appreciation of learning, very diverse families, southern roots.
Our last conversation was you wishing me well. We were both sick, but I was leaving our work and you nudged me to remember the multitudes of people we helped with our good work together over 25 years. Thank you for that and so much more. Your life has impacted me in ways I did not expect. I’m so grateful.