For Debbie


It’s been a rough two weeks, for many reasons. But the main reason was that you left without even giving me the chance to say goodbye.

I came home today and looked at the stack of mail sitting on the kitchen counter. There was one envelope that I didn’t want to open yet, the one that Matt sent me. But I had to—it was time.

Staring at me was your face. Your vibrant face. It was an issue of The Brown and White from two Sundays ago.

I’m not sure if I ever told you this, but, for a while, during my last year at Lehigh, you were one of the few people I trusted. I had lost all of my friends except those at The Brown and White. And because you and I were the head “empresses” (to use your word), we stuck through what seemed like endless press nights. I confess that, though sometimes I wanted to skip copy editing (and so did you) and other tedious work, I was happy not to be alone, to be there with somebody who still wanted to be my friend, and so I secretly didn’t want press nights to end. I don’t think I ever thanked you for this, and I’m sorry, but you have no idea how much you helped through those tough times.

I will remember you for many reasons—it’s hard not to. Your laugh. As I read this issue’s editorial, it seems your laugh was your trademark, and I can’t help but agree. That hearty, toss-your-head-back, uninhibited laugh of yours is the soundtrack to my B&W memories. Your high-five. We both had cars, but somehow, you’d always end up driving me up to Coppee and back down in your white beamer. As I’d say goodbye, we’d high-five for one more successful press night. Your emails. You were the queen of random and hilarious emails. Maybe one day I’ll publish them, because the world deserves to see how incredibly funny you were.

You know, I remember having to attend my first B&W orientation meeting and being somewhat scared. I was the lone sophomore who had changed her major a bit late in the game, so there were a lot of freshmen, including this one girl who kept asking questions with her loud, confident voice and who seemed to know more than our orientation leaders and who, frankly, intimidated me. It’s odd to think that was you, because my first and last impressions of you were so different.

I’m sorry I never called to catch up, and that most of our communication was online. It shouldn’t have been like this, and for that I apologize, even though I’m well aware it’s too late.

You still mean so much to me. You have no idea how much I’ll miss you.



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