Diane

My babushka has been dead for almost two years. She had looked as frail as the royals in Egyptian coffins from ten thousands BC, with their last minutes wrapped with care, their lives preserved for eternity.

We had only known each other for about year or so, but still her second stroke got her. She took her job seriously even though she could have retired almost a decade before then, but given the fact she was a professor at the university I attend, she continued to teach. They told me she was in Memorial. We got to know each other after I took her class part 1 and 2 of Western Civ. class.

Her knowledge of life and history would be more vast then the Library of Alexandria, the dusty boxes covered in the ashes of Pompeii, their memories preserves until several century past when sunbaked archeologist from Rome coming to explore. I was crushed when I saw her-somehow the staff had given me access to see her at the local ICU- I hadn’t seen someone so close to death in a long time.

A year and a half is not long enough to have known someone like her, a fierce babushka who cured her colds with bourbon and Nightquil, appearing two days later, cane in hand, and with mic on loud and clear. She told the class about one time when she had a miss-adventure in England and how she got lost driving around and ended up in a quaint village. She prayed at the local church then went to the pub, she ask the barman “What the hell is wrong with those fucking roads out there?” The barman’s reply was, “Well lass those roads have with stood almost 2000 years of wear and tear so the drive may be a bit rough”. She was hooked to life support, bald, looking like the frail figures I have seen abandon in nursing homes. I think I knew when I saw her the first time that she wasn’t going to pull through.

She gave me a cook book that specializes in Italian cuisine, possibly because I had written a paper on ancient roman cuisine. She was unrecognizable, lying in the bed barely conscience, waste bag perpetually filling. She lived her life to the fullest; she had traveled around the globe, loved good food and company, especially Hammurabi, Alexander, and Napoléon, these men being the her answer to the question, “if you could invite three dinner guest who would they be?” Her reason was that Hammurabi and Napoleon had created law codes for their respective time and place, and she had been a lawyer who practiced Napoleonic law here in Texas. Alexander, possibly because he was her fantasy, she was still a woman after all.

She was Elizabeth Diane Malpass, she had been a professor here since the 90’s, and she was as tough and fierce as s Spartan, but just as caring as a grandmother. She didn’t ever seem to have an off day, or ever seem that her age was a factor even considered by her mind. Still at times on the fourth floor Ferguson I can her shuffle walk and cane, like a Galapagos tortoise heading to her home. She expected out of students what any professor would want, attentiveness, respect in the way of turning off detractions and being on time. Once, a guy I the class just kind of blew off the class and her as an instructor, only for him to show up late on his phone, at which point she politely at him to step outside in order for her to talk to him, well, as soon as he was out the door she closed and lock the door and went on with her lecture. Several minutes later she opened the door and asked the young to come in, sit down, and pay attention. She made me want to travel and explore this planet we call home, actually go and see historical places in Europe and Asia, to go to Egypt and surround myself with its ancient and magnificent glory. She is in a list of teachers I have met at SFA that saw that I wanted more out my education then a salary.

She was cremated into fertilizer for her flower garden. She had been resilient as the French and the English in the 100 Years’ War, who had a stroke and continues to kick ass for eighteen more months. Her many travels abroad to Paris, London, and Rome, with a leopard printed scarf and looking for a drink or two.

She is gone and with her the annuls of history, at times I wonder where all of her books, boxes of slides and knowledge that cover everything from Pre-History to yesterday have gone, even though they are probably gone. And lastly, also where all of her leopard printed head covers had went as well.

I love you.