A few years ago, during the penultimate semester in my university career, a tragedy struck my classmates and me. While much time has passed, my thoughts often drift back to this time, and I wonder why it had affected me so much.
In my fourth year of university, I was still under the foolish impression that I would graduate to be a top-of-the-line lawyer, a legal advocate for women's rights, a leader in the profession. It was a career path that I quickly learned was not right for me at all, but at the time, I thought it was my destiny. Hence, I took a non-mandatory tort and contract law class on Tuesdays from 6 to 8:45 pm. My professor, let's just call him Mr. F, was a loud, energetic presence in the room. He would pace around the front of the room, scribbling things on the board here and there, and using a handkerchief to mop the sweat off his brow every fifteen minutes or so. He was clearly very passionate about his career in law.
The one case he taught us that struck out to me was Donoghue vs Stevenson as it changed the path for cases of negligence. The facts of the case were this: Mrs. Donoghue was sipping some ginger beer with her friend at a local cafe, and after consuming almost the entirety of it, she found a decomposing snail at the bottom of the bottle. She later got sick, and sued the ginger beer manufacturer for negligence. The company was held responsible for the damages.
I thought about this case a lot. Metaphorically, rather than academically, as I am a creative writer at heart, and not a lawyer. I thought about all the nasty snails in my life, caused by my anxiety, which was at its worst during the last year of university. But I was the only one responsible for spoiling my sweet ginger beer of a life. I thought too much about philosophy back then. I thought too much overall.
Before the Christmas break, Mr. F wished us a happy vacation. It was unusually warm for mid-December, with birds chirping outside the window, though it was evening time and dark. My classmate and I went to a student bar that night and drank $5 watered down whiskeys. We reflected on the interesting tort and contract law course, which was to continue after the winter break.
At the beginning of my winter break, I went to a "mindfulness" seminar with some of my classmates, which was hosted by the university. We all got split into groups, and I was lucky enough to be in the "therapy dog" group. For half the seminar, I played with the 3 dogs that had come to visit-- a chocolate brown Labrador Retriever, a huge St. Bernard, and a skinny grey Whippet. Nobody wanted to play with the Whippet, so I spent the most time with it and its trainer. The trainer told me that whippets are quiet, clean, and perfect for apartments. I thought about getting a whippet one day.
On my way to the subway station from the seminar, I got a text from my contract law classmate. She wrote, "did you read what happened to Mr. F!?" I quickly logged onto my university email on my phone, and read the subject line of an email that said, "Sad news-- Mr. F has passed away." It didn't say how he died, or when. Even though I barely knew Mr. F, I was overcome with grief. Heavy tears streamed down my face while I sat on the subway, unable to control my emotions. It was like this one tragedy was too much for me to bear, the straw to break my back.
Mr. F was not married. He lived by himself. I wondered what he was doing when death struck him. Was he making breakfast? Taking a shower? Perhaps he was reading a book, or watching reality TV. How long did it take for someone to find him there? A day? A week? How long would it take for people to notice me? To notice that I no longer existed? I was plagued by these thoughts almost obsessively. It felt wrong and dark to think them, but I couldn't control them. I missed Mr. F a lot, and I felt so bad for him and his family.
We all know someone who has passed away; a loved one who is no longer with us. We must cherish our friends and family and be kind to them, and be kind to our neighbours, teachers, and bus drivers as well, because no one knows which day will be our last.
In my fourth year of university, I was still under the foolish impression that I would graduate to be a top-of-the-line lawyer, a legal advocate for women's rights, a leader in the profession. It was a career path that I quickly learned was not right for me at all, but at the time, I thought it was my destiny. Hence, I took a non-mandatory tort and contract law class on Tuesdays from 6 to 8:45 pm. My professor, let's just call him Mr. F, was a loud, energetic presence in the room. He would pace around the front of the room, scribbling things on the board here and there, and using a handkerchief to mop the sweat off his brow every fifteen minutes or so. He was clearly very passionate about his career in law.
The one case he taught us that struck out to me was Donoghue vs Stevenson as it changed the path for cases of negligence. The facts of the case were this: Mrs. Donoghue was sipping some ginger beer with her friend at a local cafe, and after consuming almost the entirety of it, she found a decomposing snail at the bottom of the bottle. She later got sick, and sued the ginger beer manufacturer for negligence. The company was held responsible for the damages.
I thought about this case a lot. Metaphorically, rather than academically, as I am a creative writer at heart, and not a lawyer. I thought about all the nasty snails in my life, caused by my anxiety, which was at its worst during the last year of university. But I was the only one responsible for spoiling my sweet ginger beer of a life. I thought too much about philosophy back then. I thought too much overall.
Before the Christmas break, Mr. F wished us a happy vacation. It was unusually warm for mid-December, with birds chirping outside the window, though it was evening time and dark. My classmate and I went to a student bar that night and drank $5 watered down whiskeys. We reflected on the interesting tort and contract law course, which was to continue after the winter break.
At the beginning of my winter break, I went to a "mindfulness" seminar with some of my classmates, which was hosted by the university. We all got split into groups, and I was lucky enough to be in the "therapy dog" group. For half the seminar, I played with the 3 dogs that had come to visit-- a chocolate brown Labrador Retriever, a huge St. Bernard, and a skinny grey Whippet. Nobody wanted to play with the Whippet, so I spent the most time with it and its trainer. The trainer told me that whippets are quiet, clean, and perfect for apartments. I thought about getting a whippet one day.
On my way to the subway station from the seminar, I got a text from my contract law classmate. She wrote, "did you read what happened to Mr. F!?" I quickly logged onto my university email on my phone, and read the subject line of an email that said, "Sad news-- Mr. F has passed away." It didn't say how he died, or when. Even though I barely knew Mr. F, I was overcome with grief. Heavy tears streamed down my face while I sat on the subway, unable to control my emotions. It was like this one tragedy was too much for me to bear, the straw to break my back.
Mr. F was not married. He lived by himself. I wondered what he was doing when death struck him. Was he making breakfast? Taking a shower? Perhaps he was reading a book, or watching reality TV. How long did it take for someone to find him there? A day? A week? How long would it take for people to notice me? To notice that I no longer existed? I was plagued by these thoughts almost obsessively. It felt wrong and dark to think them, but I couldn't control them. I missed Mr. F a lot, and I felt so bad for him and his family.
We all know someone who has passed away; a loved one who is no longer with us. We must cherish our friends and family and be kind to them, and be kind to our neighbours, teachers, and bus drivers as well, because no one knows which day will be our last.
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