Dear Dana

Dear Dana,

The last time I saw you was at the Espresso Royale Café. It was my last day at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, and I was scrambling to meet everyone before leaving. We had been arranging to meet up for a few days now, and I remember calling you a few times, and you emailing me to tell me that you had called me back, but for some odd reason, we were unable to coordinate our timings, and missed each other’s calls. Finally, we managed to set a time to meet up for coffee, even though it was the end of a humid Illinois July. I remember you were wearing your typical ‘Dana’ clothes: loose Capri pants, a t-shirt, and funky jewelry that you had collected from all your travels. The only addition was a pea-cap on your head, covering your once-ample salt and pepper head of hair.

The reason for meeting up with you was not just to have coffee, of course. It was to say goodbye. I knew I was going away for a long time, back to Pakistan, but I also knew in my heart I would one day go back to UIUC, if only for a visit. But I did not know then that that would be the last time I would be seeing you – ever.

You died on 5th January 2003, losing a battle to leukemia, a disease you had been diagnosed of just a few months back. I recall it was the end of the last semester of my master’s when we all found out about your leukemia. I had been shocked then, because you had always seemed so healthy and full of life. For me, you were not just my editing instructor, or my employer at the journalism placement office where I did my graduate assistantship. For me, you were a friend. You listened to me talk endlessly about Pakistan, and it was you who advised me on going back and working in my home country. I know I talked a lot, because I was starved for a friendly ear to listen to me reminisce about home. You listened patiently, setting your work aside, asking me to tell you about what life was like back home, what the lifestyle and food was like, what the culture was all about. I remember showing you photographs of my family and you asking me about each and every one of them. You asked me about Islam, about my views on Sept 11, about my beliefs and values. When I caught the flu and missed work for a day, you sent me an email asking me how I was and offered to drop off chicken soup at my apartment. One afternoon you took me to the UPS collection area, which was in the outskirts of town, just so that I could collect my parcels, because you knew I had no other way of getting there.

You never forced me to come to work when I had finals or when I was working on a project for some class. You never asked me how many hours I put in at work, nor did you question my timings. I think you were one of the most easygoing people I met at UIUC, and definitely the most compassionate and understanding.

I know you had a passion for journalism but more than that, you loved photographs. You had been a photojournalist at the initial stages of your career, and you loved a good picture like anything. I began appreciating photos, and the powerful messages they can carry, in your class. Before that, photographs did not hold much importance in my eyes, and I could appreciate them, but not really understand the essence of them. But you showed me how to really look at a photo and see a story. You also had a passion for grammar. Oh the pains we all took to correct our spellings and sentences in your class! For the first time in my life, I became aware of everything I wrote, even in the emails I sent you, checking them again and again for mistakes, for fear that you would find a grammatical error. I’m sorry, Dana. This message probably has a lot of mistakes. I bet if you were here, you would’ve found out at least five, and would’ve told me, in your soft, lilting voice, that as a journalist, I have to be careful of every single word that I write!

I don’t think I ever got a chance to thank you for making my time at UIUC so comfortable and memorable. I know I’m too late now to thank you for listening to me, for being so warm and compassionate, and for making so much effort to talk to me and get to know me better. I know you leave behind a lot of people who admired you, loved you and cared for you. You will be missed.

Sincerely,

Sobia