I’m Still Grieving for My Favorite Geologist

Sometimes the choices we make when consoling friends can also console ourselves

I’m Still Grieving for My Favorite Geologist 

A South Carolina writing professor whom I’ve never met wrote me a message yesterday that triggered my feelings of affection and appreciation for his sister, a departed Geology professor at UC Davis.

As I write this, the room is silent except for the wall’s analog clock, subtly sounding a song of fractions: one sixtieth of a minute, one sixtieth of an hour, one eighty-six thousand, four-hundredth of a day. Always approaching zero, sometimes life feels like an asymptote. There are 31,536,000 seconds in a year, and a limited number of years in a lifetime. For my dad, that number of years was 71. For my best friend Tito, that number was 26. For actor Dustin Diamond, that number was 44. For my close friend the Spanish professor Francisco X. Alarcón, that number was 62 (Having passed away in 2016, he should be retiring about now). For UC Davis Distinguished Professor of Geology Louise Kellogg, that number was 59. 

This is what I wrote to David Kellogg yesterday:

Hi David! 

Now that I see your name, I remember that you and I have chatted on Twitter about Louise. 

I adored her. She and I became friends at a Chancellor's Fall Summit about 15 years ago, and we had had many conversations in the ensuing years. About four years ago, we arranged to discuss some teaching topics, so I met her at her office overlooking Putah Creek. Our meeting stayed on topic for about 15 minutes, and then meandered variously for about the next hour, much to my delight. She cared so deeply about her students, and every interaction I had with her reminded me of her humanity and humor. I invited her to my 50th birthday party in 2017, but she wasn't able to attend. 

Believe it or not, Louise signed up to receive notices about the poetry events that I host twice a month, and I think she may even have joined us at some of the early events we held in downtown Davis. Here is an example of something she wrote to me in 2009, via Facebook Messenger: 

"Hi Andy: it was nice to see you too. And I enjoy getting the notices about the poetry readings at Bistro 33. I'm actually on sabbatical leave this winter and spring (that's why I look so relaxed). At some point in the future, I'd be happy to talk about visualization to the FMFP [The Faculty Mentoring Faculty Program, an initiative that I ran for years at UC Davis]. Best wishes, Louise" 

I love the thought of her admitting to looking so relaxed. Perhaps we ran into each other at the hardware store? I don't remember now, but I do know that I treasured our conversations, and lament her loss. 

I regret, too, that I didn't get to express my condolences in person during her memorial service, which I only heard about the next day. She was such a special person, and I'm sure you continue to feel her absence (and her presence) in the almost two years since her passing. 

I send best regards, 

Andy

We express condolences in different ways. When the poet Amiri Baraka passed away, a number of poets gathered at a special Davis Poetry Night that was devoted to his memory and his poetry. This was meaningful to me, because Baraka and I once had a two-hour conversation on the way to Davis from the San Francisco airport, a drive that I started feeling intimidated, and finished feeling like I had made a new friend. When Francisco Alarcón died, I hosted a celebration of his life with members of the huge community of Latinx and Native poets that he had fostered during his decades at UC Davis. Strategically, Francisco’s admirers had me introduce the Anglo poets reading and speaking that night, while they rotated the introduction of the Spanish-speakers. They rightly feared that I would mangle the pronunciation of their biographies.

My son Jukie received double-eyelid reconstruction surgery in the same month, March of 2004, that my father passed away. Our favorite Fairfield School teacher, Mrs. Neu, arranged for the Fairfield parents to deliver us dinners as Jukie recovered, a gift that sustained us during that difficult time more than cards or flowers could have. What a welcome strategy that was to share condolences!

I don’t know if my words to David Kellogg were any consolation, but I know they were heartfelt. I later realized that I was quoted in the official UC Davis “In Memoriam” articlewritten about Louise Kellogg, one in which her colleague Mike Oskin called her “a compassionate leader,” something any of us would wish to be called. Oskin continued: “Louise was a great scientist, a broad thinker capable of translating her insights to new fields, a kind and wise mentor, and a tireless advocate for diversity in the sciences." 

Facebook gives us an opportunity to share fond memories of our friends after they have passed on. I am friends now with more than 20 people who still have Facebook pages even though they have passed on, including Louise and Francisco. (As I have written elsewhere, Tito and my dad lived before or untouched by the digital revolutions of our lives, and thus did not participate in our social media communities.) For those of us who were friends before they passed, we have already been welcomed into the departed’s community of Facebook connections. For those who missed that opportunity, we will forever be outside that circle.

Or so one would think. Once a few years ago I had been alerted by a staff member in the English Department that one of my previous students had died after being struck by a car on a Midtown Sacramento street. Heartbroken, I Googled the student’s name, came across his Facebook account as the first “hit,” and clicked on his name. Imagine my sadness when I saw the phrase “[Student Name] sent you a friend request,” and was invited to confirm or delete the request. I confirmed and then entered his world, if only to offer my condolences to his community in their place of grief, a place that too many of us know these days.

I am hosting a poetry reading this coming Thursday with Barbara Ruth Saunders and Rick Lupert. Add your name to Poetry in Davis, either the mailing list or the Facebook group, to find out more.

Thanks to my Pub Quiz patrons who make these newsletters possible. If you haven’t already, please join them on Patreon in supporting this weekly endeavor.

Thanks for your help and support. Stay safe!

Dr. Andy

P.S. Here are three questions from last week’s Pub Quiz:

1.    Science.  Starting with the letter F, what do we call a tail-like structures that helps the cell to move?  

2.    Books and Authors. For what series of books is Stephenie Meyer best known?  

3.    Shakespeare. Reading a Shakespeare sonnet on YouTube during every day of the coronavirus lockdown, what knighted British actor has been nominated for Olivier, Tony, Golden Globe, Emmy, Screen Actors Guild, and Saturn Awards?  

P.P.S. “Death ends a life, not a relationship.” Mitch Albom, Tuesdays with Morrie