It was January 13, 2009 and I was on my way to the college when my cell phone rang.
“Where are you?” my GWU friend asked.
“On the way. What’s up?”
“Uhhh, nothin’, just wanted to see if you wanted to meet Gary and me for coffee.”
“You’re out of class?” I asked. It was only 8:30 and they had Dr. Cal Robertson. Doc Cal never ends class early. Never. “I thought you had Robertson.”
“We do. . . we just . . . well . . . we’re at the coffee shop.”
“Is something wrong with Robertson? Is he sick?” There was something she wasn’t telling me, but she said he was fine. “Robertson is NOT fine if he let you out of class early.”
“No, really. Robertson is fine.”
I’m slow on the uptake at 8:30 in the morning. I didn’t hear the shock in her voice, the utter disbelief. I didn’t hurry. When I got to GWU, my friends met me, not at the coffee shop, but in the yard outside the divinity school.
“Aileen. Dr. Goodman died this morning,” Donna told me.
“What?”
“It’s true Aileen,” Gary said, “He collapsed in the shower. We don’t know any more details right now.”
“Dr. Goodman?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Are you sure?” (We ask stupid questions like that when we are in shock.) They nodded, even while still disbelieving the news themselves.
“We’re having chapel today, but they changed the planned service. Now the focus will be Dr. Goodman.” In a few hours, we all went to church. Here’s what I wrote about that service.
