I Saw Her Today At The Reception

I'm pretty freaked out right now. I just heard from the wife of one of my writing students, who had just heard from the husband of another writing student (still with me?) saying that she died last night. He had been very concerned that the writing group should hear the news right away.

Shock. I have been teaching this writing group since 2000, and since Jarrah we have been meeting in each others' homes, once a month. My students are all retired UCSD administrators. Juliet joined us about a year ago, but she hadn't been attending regularly until recently. She actually hosted the last meeting.

Juliet had told me she had some health problems, but she wasn't specific about it. I just know that she had trouble speaking above a whisper, and often asked one of us to read for her. She was a lovely writer with an elegant turn of phrase. She seemed very engaged with the group, and would sometimes tear up when we complimented her. And her own critiques were incisive and helpful. I'd say she was one of the more experienced writers I've encountered in this class.

I cringe to remember last month in her home, when I was rather testy with her. She'd written a piece about her memories of Baltimore, and it was all over the place. After we read it, my first comment was "Juliet, I have no clue what this is about." It was one of my tough-love days, when I break someone down only to build them back up. I don't do that very often. I walked her through the piece, paragraph by paragraph, pointing out how there were no transitions and about 12 different topics. She seemed stung, defensive. And then the rest of the students strongly disagreed with me, saying they loved the piece and thought I was on crack. Which was great, I mean, I always want the students to speak their own minds, not just agree with me like cyborgs.

At the end, she got up and started to lay out tea cups and plates, and a big platter of cheese and crackers and fruit. "Should I put this on the table, or let people come help themselves?" I said, "I think we're leaving now. We usually eat during the meeting." What was she doing? Whoever hosts puts out snacks and coffee for the rest of us, and we partake while we work. It's always been done that way. When we arrived to a coffee-less, snack-less table, we just sucked it up and carried on.

"Well, why didn't someone tell me?" she snapped. I thought that was so bizarre, and I actually felt sort of unsettled and annoyed as I drove away. Why would someone tell her? Wouldn't that be rude, to demand food and drink when it was clear none was available? We were just being polite, overlooking the omission. And why didn't she remember the protocol? It's been the same every time. Grrr. I even called David to kvetch to him, but he didn't answer. By the time he called back hours later, I wasn't annoyed anymore and felt a bit silly for having called him.

So, I don't feel like I left on the best of terms with Juliet. And now I won't have another chance to shower praise on her writing, as I have in the past. My last contact with her was snotty and supercilious. I'm reeling about that. It's a good reminder that you never know the last time you'll speak to someone, so say something nice.

Juliet died from an undiagnosed brain condition, not from her chronic complaints. No one expected her to go so suddenly. When I called Pat (my student's wife) she said that Juliet's husband had seemed very eager to hear from me. Really? I've never met him, and I didn't know Juliet outside of our monthly meetings. So now I'm torn. Readers, I need your advice, because if there's any social intercourse I'm totally hopeless at, it's how to behave in the face of death.

What should I do? Call and express my sympathy? Ask for their address? Send flowers? Attend the funeral? I did send an e-mail to the rest of the students, bringing them up to speed. I hope I don't seem callous and boorish. I'm just no good at this.