We met at career college in Florida. Josh taught Biology, and I taught American Literature. He was quiet, and the only passionate stance he ever took and/or shared with me was that quantum physics was a pseudo-science. Most of the time, he was easy-going about everything, including the hours-long meetings we had about student retention and student body, comprised mostly of newly arrived immigrants who hardly spoke English.
When I ran into him in the teacher's lounge, we always made small talk. Once, I learned he was tired of the Florida heat and was thinking of moving back to his native Indiana, which I didn't think much of an option by his preference of living in a place with a more tropical climate. Before he moved, he was diagnosed with lung cancer, but he told me he was getting treatment and would be fine. That's as far as we ever talked about personal matters.
Years later, he called one night and offered me an online teaching position with the same school we had been employed as onsite instructors. I had not seem him on campus for over two years, and he told me he was back in Indiana working for the same school online. He said I had to decide that night whether or not I wanted the job. Health insurance was included. I hesitated. (It's funny I would even consider rescinding such an offer after years with no health coverage). At the time, I worried about taking extra work. I was a single mother of two, and I worked day and night shifts as an adjunct. Mostly, I was exhausted, yet I took the job and was grateful for the benefits.
Josh trained me on the online platform. He was patient, kind, and answered all my questions, even weeks after the training was completed.
Years later, I read an online message from administration that he had a relapse of his lung cancer. I sent him an e-card with Israel Kamakawiwo' Ole's "Somewhere Over the Rainbow," (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C9b3_1CcXtY), but never heard back.
Over the years, I thought of him and wondered how he was doing. If it wasn't for his offer of an online position I would not have been able to move to Maine, I would not have health insurance, and I would not have mobility in my work and more freedom in my life.
Yesterday, I read an online announcement from the online division secretary that Josh had died after struggling with yet another bout of lung cancer. The news shook me. He had been an important acquaintance, a man who had had some insight into my future, some ability to connect me with future events. Of course, he did not know much his offer changed my life, but it did, and I wanted to know something more about it, like if he had been happy when he was alive.
It's a strange type of desire to know something about person who for all intents and purposes was a stranger, so I didn't know where to begin my research. But I didn't have to go far because when I skimmed the messages posted on his online eulogy page I found what I needed to know: 'Josh, take my heart and keep it with you forever, Spencer.'
Josh had been loved truly, madly, deeply.
My memoir, "The Continent of Ruby," available at:
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00TT5DDWO
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