Dear Mister...

Dear Mister*,

I wish that I could have done things differently. If I would have had any knowledge of what was about to happen and how it was going to change my life, I would have. It's wrong that tragedy had to strike for me to feel this way, I know.

In the beginning, I always tried my best. Honestly, I wanted to do everything I could to impress you. For some time, it was simply because everyone made you out to be such a tough guy, and I wanted to prove that I could do anything you threw at me and well. However, you began to grow on me. Never did I admit that to anyone other than myself. Then I started trying hard because I realized how much you could teach me, how much you wanted us to take from you.

Somewhere through the second year I'd known you I began to slip. Between personal issues and simply not caring, my work began to slip greatly. You never said anything, but I could tell what your side-glances meant. I knew I needed to get back in the game, back to being myself, but by the time I got around to it...it was just too late.

I remember one of my favorite moments with you; I wonder if you remember it, too. It was that dreadful research paper we spend months doing. You had us do so much research and different preparation. You even insisted on picking our topics for us! I remember cursing when you assigned me "Oprah Winfrey".

Much to my delight and yours as well, I aced the paper. It was one of the best moments of my entire life. I couldn't believe it, but I think you had confidence in me all along. Sometimes I wish I would have gotten that paper back from the school, but it seemed like a selfish thing to ask.

I'd had many caring teachers over those two years, but you seemed to care the most to me. Yes, you. You could read me better than any of my other teachers, whether I wanted you to or not. What surprised me even more is that you went out of your way and took up your time to show me you cared. I may not have let you know, but I cared about you, too. Even through your tough-as-nails demeanor, hour long assignments, and cocky attitude, you were still my favorite teacher and the one I learned the most from. I just wish you would have known all of this; you were severely under-appreciated by many of us students, myself included.

I remember the last conversation I had with you; I think it was one of your last with a student. I remember lingering inside your classroom after the final bell had sounded. My best friend was motioning for me to, "hurry up so we can leave"; it was a Friday, afterall. I was opening up to you, telling you some things about my father that you could relate to. You were telling me how you were in pain and could not stand it. I told you that I hoped you started feeling better. I know that you could tell how I sincerely meant it, and you thanked me for it, quite genuinely. Had I known that was the last time we would speak, I would have said so much more and probably would have given you a hug.

It was so obvious to everyone that you were a very strong man, but I know you had to have been scared during those final days. I wish I could have been there for you, though there would have been no way for me to know. No one knew what was happening to you or how to stop it. That makes me so furious. Why could no one fix what was happening to you? You probably felt that this was God's Will, that He needed to take you. You probably tried to be brave, and I know for a fact that you wouldn't want anyone crying over you. If you could see me now, I'm sure you'd be disappointed because that's just what I'm about to do.

I was in attendance at your visitation, but I was sick...in every means of the word. I was sick mentally, physically, and emotionally. I didn't feel obligated to go, but I knew I would be letting myself down if I did not. It would have been something I'd regret for a very, very long time.

You were such an accomplished man; I think I learned nearly as much at your visitation than during the years you'd been my teacher. It was amazing to see all that you'd done and everything you were planning to do. Even then you didn't cease to shock me.

I feel as if anything else I say beyond this point would be almost forced, and that is not how I write anymore. I'm sorry for the mistakes I've made throughout this letter of sorts. It's a dangerous thing, writing to your English professor.

These are the things I've decided not to share with anyone. I hope you appreciate me sharing them now. In less than two days, it will be half a year since you've gone.

"Heads up!"**


*He always insisted that his first name was, "Mister".

**Something he said when I would put my head down in sadness or shyness.