Last night, Shannon and I were talking about the process of stepping into this new life we have before us. We spoke of grieving the loss of what we knew of life, in order to fully and beautifully embrace what is before us in this new land. We spoke of the time we have been graciously given to process our losses and of the space we are seeking to do so well and deeply.
This afternoon, after a four day hiatus from the internet (because our connection stopped working and didn’t get to fixing it until today) I discovered that one of my most valued mentors and professors, Dr. Margo Husby, from the University of Calgary had passed away suddenly on February 13th. I was absolutely shocked.
I have been invited to grieve a little deeply and a little bit wider then before.
Margo was one of my favorite professors in my 4 years at the UofC for a variety of reasons. She spoke her mind clearly and articulately and gave everyone student who sat in on her classes the same opportunity. She expected critical thinking and encouraged students to orient themselves to the world around them, to wake up from the daze of surface-level and superficial living. A lot of students did not appreciate this about her, for it revealed their highly fabricated lives a bit too clearly and subtly dented their pride. Regardless, she believed that every student of hers could be great, could change the world in which we live.
At the beginning of the semester, after knowing her only a couple hours, I mentioned to her that I wanted my final project to challenge me in ways I had not yet experienced in my time at the UofC. She asked me both what made me excited to create, and what made me frightened to create. I told her I would both delight and tremble through the process of writing my own music. She told me she expected to hear a song at the end of the semester. And thus began our relationship. She challenged, I accepted. I reciprocated. We delighted in it, and I found myself in one of the most formative classes of my entire academic history
When I told her about the MATUL program, she was ecstatic. She encouraged me along the entire process of applying, acceptance and preparing to leave. She blessed my journey and signed up for my newsletter, to be a part of the journey.
More than anything, she lived a life that was honest and seeking. Her presence in a room was known, not because she dominated or pulled the attention onto herself, but because she always added to life.
When I think about Dr. Margo leaving us, I am thankful that she walked along side those around her, that she took time to care for and mentor her students, that she lived life fully, never seeking attention or notice. What Margo left us is a void, in which we feel her absence.
It really gives me perspective for life here in India. Although I cannot hide my presence (my skin is a real give away, I am noticed where ever I go) I do hope that my neighbors and the friends that I make here will not be overwhelmed by my presence.
My hope is to be a light, to share in the everyday, to suffer alongside and to celebrate life with those around me. To step into the journey of others, so that, when the time comes that I have to go, we will mutually feel the void.
she wanders 