Too Late For a Thank You

While in NYC, I ran into one of my co-chairs from last year's reunion week. I was a clerk for the class of 1978 then, and worked with two outstanding people: Ken Moguil and Mary Bowler Jones. While inbetween sessions, I caught Mary in the hallway and waved hello. I really wanted to thank her for reccommending me to be a head clerk.

I was smiling, and genuinely happy to see her. She smiled back, and walked over to me. Then I got the news -- Ken was dead.

Cathy, my boss at alumni house, said how Ken had raved about me. I really think it was his reccommendation that got me the job, even though Cathy claims it was a joint effort. I liked Ken, too. He was a family man, great alumnus, and always in control of the situation.

Except his own.

Sometime after Reunion Ken fell into a deep funk. He kept to himself, shutting out his wife of several years, and even Mary -- a friend of 30 years. One day after New Years they found his car, empty and parked on the edge of a resovoir. There was no note, no reason, no sense to it.

A bottle of prescription pills has since floated to the surface, but not Ken. Part of me is hoping he's still alive, and didn't actually go through with it. I hope he's collecting himself in some small town out west. I want him to be okay, deal with his issues, and return to the people who need him -- his family.

But I can also see the hand writing on the wall, and from here, it spells a pretty clear sentence. Ken is dead. It truly is too late for a thank you.

I was deflated -- drained -- after my conversation with Mary. I still am.