a sad call to the switchboard

I was at my desk this morning and heard the calls to the switchboard start to pick up. So, I threw on my headset, logged in, and took a couple calls to help them catch up.

One of those started out simply enough. A woman said she had a couple of questions and asked if I could help her. I said I could and the first was an easy one – “how did she get her transcripts?” The answer: The Office of the Registrar – and I gave her the number without having to look it up – (330-972-8300).

The second was about the commencement videos from 2016. While I was looking this up on the website, she explained that 2016 was when her son graduated UA – and that he died four days later. She said that she had been meaning to find the commencement video for a while and she had the pictures, but… And she trailed off.

I teared up immediately and told her that I was so very sorry for her loss. I managed to locate the site and gave her the address and how to order a DVD.

She thanked me for my help and we ended the call. I logged off and sat quietly for a moment.

All that effort. All the work and sacrifice. All the potential. A kid who had just gotten through college and now… just gone.

I can’t even imagine what she had gone through and what she was still going through.

I’ve met only a small fraction of the students that have attended UA in the 20 years I’ve been here. And the ones I’ve met, I rarely get to know very well.

And yet, they are ours. Our students. We guide them, we teach them, we help them. They matter – they all matter.

And there’s a feeling of a job well done as each new group walks across the graduation stage and out into the world. Having just recently helped with a ceremony, well, it hit me pretty hard to hear about her son.

I helped her as best I could, with deeply sincere sympathy, and I hope that she gets something positive out of that video – and that it doesn’t hurt her more than she’s already been hurt.

It clouded my day today and I’m going to keep thinking about her and her son.