"rainy days and mondays always bring me down..." - The Carpenters

Today was a really long day - I was at work for a longer time than usual and was standing in the lab during most of it. I had a funny feeling all the way home - kind of moody, kind of depressed (not severe - calm down, you psychologists), yet not really knowing why. I signed on to AIM to talk to people, but you know what? I was hiding my feelings the whole time. I thought that by chatting with people my mood would change, but it didn't - because I was avoiding the fact that I was uncomfortable about something and was looking for a way out instead of addressing it.

This uneasiness I was feeling was no doubt a preparation for the news I discovered this evening. Somehow, I just knew something wasn't right - I think God was trying to protect me from completely falling apart by giving me gradual warning signals. My mother called this evening and informed me that my high school counselor had passed away in a car accident yesterday morning. The funny thing is, she didn't really tell me at first - when she mentioned his name though, I knew it, inside my head. Yet I outwardly kept denying. "Is he in the hospital?" I asked, hoping maybe, just maybe it wouldn't be true.

"Well... no, honey, he's dead. I'm sorry," was her response.

Now, more than an hour later, it has finally sunk in. The first thing I remembered about him was the last time I had tried to contact him, about three years ago. I had sent him a postcard from CWRU, but found out that he had already left the school system and had moved elsewhere in the state, so I never knew if he had received it or not. Then all the other memories caught up: a few conversations, his pleasant greetings in the hallway, how he had always called me "Mary" and how I never corrected him because he was always so nice... all the way back to 9th grade, when I was still in middle school. He had come in to my Global Studies class to talk about class selection. I had asked him a question about scheduling (don't remember what it was), but I remember that he was impressed with what I had asked, for some reason or another. The next time I saw him was when we were sitting down to have our schedules approved and select our counselors. He called me out into the library, looked at the kinks in my schedule, and told me he would make sure everything would work out. I had already intended to select him as a counselor, but I didn't even have to ask. "I've got you in my special folder," he said. "Don't worry about a thing."

He was always encouraging, always supportive of the things I wanted to do. And he did always take care of everything - he would find the root of the problem and get rid of it. He was with me both when I was celebrating and when I was bummed. He always provided wisdom when I asked him for it. My life in high school would not have been the same if he had not been there. I thank God for the three years in high school that I had with him and the positive impact he had on my life.

God bless you, Mr. Danna - I will never forget you.