You are viewing jlundberg

Previous Entry | Next Entry

passing for human: one year gone

Jason sepia

"Passing for Human" by Jamie Bishop

A year ago today, I found out that my good friend Jamie Bishop had died. One year, and it's passed so quickly. I almost missed the date entirely; school has been especially hectic lately, and I've also been ill, which dampens my concentration and cognitive abilities. Today was a long one, wherein I helped to invigilate a term test for about 250 students, and didn't even leave campus until 5 p.m., and I'm tired and really should be in bed by now, but I didn't want today to pass without any comment of its significance.

A year ago, I was just stepping out of the shower, and Janet was telling me, "Don't turn on the TV." When I asked why, she just told me to come upstairs and see her as soon as I finished getting dressed. Janet's not one for surprises, and doesn't like keeping secrets, so I really knew something was up. I pulled my clothes on quickly and hurried upstairs, where she told me about the horrible massacre at Virginia Tech. At that point, it was still unclear who had been killed, and how many, but the news was that a German class had been hit, and the teacher had been shot.

It was one of those moments where I was taken completely out of myself. I felt lightheaded and numb (I'm sure all the blood had drained from my face), and it was as if I was no longer looking through my eyes, but somehow behind my eyes, which made Janet and the room in which we stood seem very far away. I didn't want to believe the news. I couldn't. I quickly fired up the iBook and checked the BBC and Google News, but the reports were still preliminary, and no names had been released. Mass confusion, and wild speculation, and no one knew exactly what had happened yet.

Email brought messages from Alex Wilson and Mike Jasper, who had also been great friends of Jamie's (and who wrote beautiful remembrances of him here and here, which I did not properly acknowledge last year; sorry, guys), asking if anyone had heard from him or Steffi. I still had their phone number from when Janet and I had visited Blacksburg in January 2007, and I ran downstairs with it in my sweating fist. After getting the okay from Janet's mum that it was okay to make the transcontinental call, I dialled multiple times, getting busy signals; understandable, since I figured other people would be trying to also find out if they were safe. After maybe a dozen tries, the call finally went through. My hands were shaking and my breath was unsteady.

A friend of Jamie's (a colleague at VT, I believe) picked up the phone, but his voice sounded so similar to my friend's that the first word out of my mouth was "Jamie?" For that split-second before he answered in the negative, an entire other world unfolded before me, one where a different classroom had been hit, or where he'd called in sick and someone else had covered his lessons, or where the media had just been wrong about what had happened and blown everything out of proportion, or where he'd been shot but it had only grazed his shoulder and he was already home from the hospital, or where, or where, or where.

But then his friend said, "No, I'm sorry," and told me his name, which I almost immediately forgot. When I told him who I was and asked if Jamie and Steffi were there and safe, he said, "Look, I hate to do this, but I'm going to have to ask you a few questions first. The media have been calling here all day, and I need to make sure you're a friend." He asked me to describe something that people wouldn't normally know about them, and after faltering for about a minute, he asked me to give some specifics about their living room (I'm guessing because he was standing there at that moment). I told him about the DVD shelf Jamie had constructed, and the four giant digital collages he'd created (by blowing up an image then printing it out in smaller segments, then painstakingly reassembling the images into the whole by pasting them all onto plywood, and doing it so carefully that you could only really see the seams if you were less than a few feet away).

After a few minutes of listening to my stumbling description, he stopped me and said, "Okay, I believe you. The good news is that Steffi is safe; she's here right now, in the other room. But Jamie was one of the ones killed."

I let out a long shaky breath and couldn't speak. Jamie's friend let the silence hang for a moment. I don't know whether he volunteered to be the spokesman for our mutual friends, or if it was thrust upon him, but I deeply appreciated (and still do) his patience and his delivery. He'd just lost a friend as well, but here he was fielding phone call after phone call, having to deliver terrible news over and over, and do it with a steady tone and unwavering understanding.

I thanked him for telling me the truth, and asked if there was anything I could do, although I couldn't imagine what I could contribute, being on the other side of the planet. He said that things were being taken care of, and that Michael and Jeri Bishop were on their way up from Georgia. I felt helpless in that moment, useless by dint of distance. I wanted to do something, anything. I told him to please relay my sympathies and support to Steffi and both their families, and then I hung up.

My feet didn't want to move, but somehow I made it back up the three flights of stairs to the room that Janet and I use as a home office. She turned in her chair and said, "So?" All I could do was nod my head before bursting into tears. She hugged me, and I held her close, not wanting to let go, needing to cling onto something important in this life, and we both wept and held each other and wept some more.

Eventually, I was able to sit back at my iBook again and relay confirmation of the news to Mike and Alex, as well as to Andreas and Luna Black (again mutual friends), and then blog about it.

On April 16, 2007, Jamie, along with thirty-one other VT faculty members and students, was murdered by Cho Seung-Hui, a young man with severe behavioral problems and easy access to semi-automatic firearms.

In the days that followed, I tried to stay on top of the news stories, and blog about them, to spread the information. Reporters from National Public Radio, The Washington Post, The Associated Press, Carolina Alumni Review, and The Carrboro Citizen emailed requesting interviews or statements, and I pointed them all to my tribute, stating that this was everything I wanted to publicly say. (At least they were polite, unlike Inside Edition, who made Alex throw up in his mouth because of their incredible lack of tact.)

Any news about memorial scholarships, or essay awards, or any other kind of encomiums to Jamie went up on the blog. It became an obsession for a while, a way to finally be able to help in some way when I couldn't before. When Paul Di Filippo (who is an extremely nice guy, and is very close friends with Mike Bishop) would post news first up at theinferior4 , most likely because Mike had emailed him the information, I would feel left out of the loop, cut out of the circle of importance, and angry at Paul for posting it first. Sure, Paul is a close family friend, but what about me?

Grief brought out a profound selfishness, which I'm sure that you, my astute and long-suffering blog readers, were probably aware of. My pain was most important, my suffering was worse than anybody's, my feelings were at stake. Forget Jamie's devastated wife, and his grieving parents, and his many other family members and friends, and our mutual friends, forget about everyone else, what about me?

There are times in my life when my ego has gotten me into trouble, but it was never as big as in the days and weeks and months after the shootings at Virginia Tech. And I feel like such a shit about it now. Even after I had begun moving on, and living my life again, and feeling guilty that I wasn't hurting as much, I still felt like my blog should be the most comprehensive source for information concerning Jamie's death and his legacy. And this wasn't fair. I didn't treat a lot of people very well in the last year because of my ego, and I'm very sorry for this now.

I still think about Jamie quite a bit. I was passing by a comics shop a few weeks ago, and on a whim asked if they had a copy of Bill Sienkiewicz's graphic novel Stray Toasters, which Jamie had enthused about during the Blacksburg trip. Luckily, the shop had one copy, so I bought it, took it home, and over the next four nights read it. It's extremely dark and surreal, and I'm still trying to suss out the significance and symbolism that saturates every page. Not an easy story to read, but the artwork certainly shares a sensibility with Jamie's work, and there are some moments of dark humor that I could see him laughing at and wanting to discuss.

During a lull in classes today, I visited memory39, and was glad to see that it was back up again (I'd checked several days ago, and the site was down, making me wonder if VT had canceled Jamie's account there, which seemed like an incredible loss, as his entire portfolio is on that site; I wrote to Mike letting him know this, and I don't know what he did, but the site is back up now, although I notice it's now on a UNC server, which is where it was previously located while he was working there). I browsed through the different illustrations and photographs, reading the commentary, as well as the bio and artistic statement, and in general reacquainting myself with my lost friend.

I'll just end with a quote from Mike Bishop, taken from the catalogue that accompanied the recent exhibition of Jamie's work at the Lamar Dodd Art Center at LaGrange College. (I very much hope that Mike doesn't mind.) It refers to the artwork posted at the top of this entry, which is the cover art for Passing for Human, an anthology forthcoming from PS Publishing in the UK, which was edited by Michael Bishop and Steven Utley. It is the last book cover that Jamie undertook, and it will appear posthumously.

Jamie himself was fully human, with all the quirks and qualities that the phrase "fully human" implies, but he was definitely passing for human, as we all must do; and I regret with all my heart that he passed, with no real chance to do otherwise, long before he should have.

--Michael Bishop

I still miss Jamie an awful lot. And my heart goes out to everyone else who does as well. May we all never forget him, and see him in another life.

Comments

( 35 circumlocutions — Add to the Intelligent Discourse )
mabfan
Apr. 17th, 2008 02:59 pm (UTC)
Thank you for this tribute, and renewed condolences on your loss.

I never met Jamie, but reading tributes such as this one gives me a good picture of the person he was.
jlundberg
Apr. 19th, 2008 04:50 am (UTC)
Thanks, Michael.
shveta_thakrar
Apr. 17th, 2008 03:00 pm (UTC)
*sending so much love*
jlundberg
Apr. 19th, 2008 04:51 am (UTC)
Thanks, Shveta. It is very much appreciated.
janradder
Apr. 17th, 2008 03:03 pm (UTC)
I'm really very sorry for your loss. I've only recently been reading your blog so I hadn't known about your personal connection to VT until now. I'm glad that your friend's site is back up.
jlundberg
Apr. 19th, 2008 04:53 am (UTC)
Thanks, Jan. There are others who've recently just friended me as well, so I wanted to provide some context.

I'm glad memory39 is back up as well. I was a bit horrified when I discovered that it was down, as if his public presence on the internet was being erased.
asakiyume
Apr. 17th, 2008 03:13 pm (UTC)
I really empathized with you about the feeling of guilt over the ego stuff. I guess that's part of the grieving, too, though: when you're feeling so much pain and sorrow, it makes it even worse to think that maybe, somehow, you're not the one suffering the most. But maybe sorrow is like love, and it's not something you can measure with a ruler; maybe sorrow is as personal and unique as love, and your sorrow and grief reflects your personal and unique love for your friend.

You know?

So, go easy on yourself about the ego. You miss him, and you're sad.
jlundberg
Apr. 19th, 2008 04:55 am (UTC)
Thanks for that. I may be being too hard on myself, but I don't think I've done a good job of acknowledging other people's grief over the last year as well.
pegkerr
Apr. 17th, 2008 03:23 pm (UTC)
I re-read all the tributes yesterday because of all the news coverage of the anniversary. And yes, I lingered over Jamie's the longest, and tears came to my eyes when I read it because of how I've come to know him, just a tiny bit, indirectly through your blog. I thought of you, and of all the people suffering through the anniversary of this terrible loss.


jlundberg
Apr. 19th, 2008 04:56 am (UTC)
Thanks for thinking of me, Peg.
elenuial
Apr. 17th, 2008 03:30 pm (UTC)
I was personally affected by the VT shooting (I spent my adolescence in the region, and many of my high school friends went to the school). Although I didn't lose anyone, I'm still not sure how to address what happened. The fact that you did and are willing to face that and your actions since speaks to a tremendous bravery.

So, thank you for having something to say when I couldn't, and thank you for being so eloquent in the process.
jlundberg
Apr. 19th, 2008 04:59 am (UTC)
And thanks for your words, A.
albionidaho
Apr. 17th, 2008 04:11 pm (UTC)
Jason, this is wonderful and beautiful. I still am amazed at how you can't write about this as you do.

Jamie was an incredibly special person. Before his death I would think of him quite often, saying to myself, "I need to remember to write him about this or that as he asked me to," and now I still think of him quite often, at these same sorts of times... There aren't many people who have touched me as personally as he did just by corresponding only through a keyboard and the internet.

And you're a very special person too. I wish you all the very best, and hope that all is well.
jlundberg
Apr. 19th, 2008 05:00 am (UTC)
Thank you, Maggie. You're a very special person too, don't forget that.
albionidaho
Apr. 22nd, 2008 05:05 am (UTC)
Thank you, Jason. That means a lot.

I hope your cold is better and this week is brighter for you.
samhenderson
Apr. 17th, 2008 04:40 pm (UTC)
Tnank you for sharing this. I am so terribly sorry.
jlundberg
Apr. 19th, 2008 05:01 am (UTC)
Thank you, Sam.
coppervale
Apr. 17th, 2008 05:20 pm (UTC)
I've been thinking about you a lot the last couple of days, Jase - and wished I'd been able to help you fly back a year ago.

This was good to read. Thank you.

I hope you're feeling better.

jlundberg
Apr. 19th, 2008 05:05 am (UTC)
Thanks, James. Even the thought that you'd able to help me fly back is a very generous one.

"Better" seems to be relative over the last few days; I was watching Doctor Who this morning, and the episode used Electric Light Orchestra's "Mr. Blue Sky," and the orchestral part of the song came on, the part near the end, the really heartbreaking stuff, and I just lost it.
feyrieprincess
Apr. 17th, 2008 05:42 pm (UTC)
I wish there was something I could say that would ease the heartache and sheer UNFAIRNESS of it, but I know there is not...
*hugs
jlundberg
Apr. 19th, 2008 05:06 am (UTC)
Thanks, Adrienne. The virtual hugs are enough.
fjm
Apr. 17th, 2008 07:10 pm (UTC)
I didn't once think you were being egotistical.

Hugs.
jlundberg
Apr. 19th, 2008 05:07 am (UTC)
That's very kind of you, Farah. Maybe it wasn't as apparent as my posts (or their frequency) may have suggested, but I certainly felt so in private.

And thanks for the hugs.
carnwrite
Apr. 17th, 2008 11:53 pm (UTC)
Thanks for posting this, Jason.
jlundberg
Apr. 19th, 2008 05:07 am (UTC)
You're welcome, Andrew.
earthsea
Apr. 18th, 2008 09:45 am (UTC)
Glad to hear that you are feeling better, one year on. I don't think there's any need to feel guilty about it- our capacity for healing is what is beautiful about life- I don't think there's any chance you'll forget him.

About the ego, well, don't be too hard on yourself. It's natural for those grieving to feel alone even though they grieve together. Most people would understand. :)
jlundberg
Apr. 19th, 2008 05:10 am (UTC)
Maybe so, but I know that other people, his wife and parents and family in particular, are in so much more pain than me. I still don't feel like I've acknowledged that sufficiently.
alexotica
May. 1st, 2008 08:50 pm (UTC)
Thanks for posting this, Jason. April was a rough month.
jlundberg
May. 2nd, 2008 03:48 pm (UTC)
You're very welcome, man. It was a really rough month for me too.

I hope you're doing okay.
starpowr
May. 10th, 2008 11:59 pm (UTC)
I was a student of Jamie's last year and I stumbled upon your site via his. I very much enjoy reading your postings regarding Jamie. They are so eloquently written and it's really nice to see how others felt about him outside of the classroom. He really is such a wonderful guy.

I hope you are doing well.

- Lisa
jlundberg
May. 11th, 2008 01:29 pm (UTC)
Thanks so much for commenting, Lisa. I'm glad I was able to convey something about Jamie outside of his academic environment.

How was he as a teacher?
starpowr
May. 11th, 2008 03:22 pm (UTC)
Remarkable. A true lover of knowledge. Passionate about the classroom and his students. Very refreshing.

I really have no talent for expressing such things. I really wish I could find the right words. I guess the best I can do is include an excerpt from my LiveJournal that I had written a few days after the shooting last year.

Every time I think about Herr Bishop, the tears start to build up. I visited his memorial every day and chatted with him. I even left a few items, too. And some days were just harder than others and I would cry while at the memorial site. Just the other day, I googled his name to see what people had written, especially friends of his. I came across an interview that he had done with a writer friend of his. I downloaded it and gave it a listen. As soon as I heard Jamie talk, I completely lost it. I miss hearing his voice. There is just something about it. I guess it's just comforting because it is so familiar. I guess to me he has a rather unique voice. And before the interview started, when they were setting up, he laughs. And that's how I remember him. Always with a huge smile on his face and a chuckle in his voice. I really miss that laugh. I heard it pretty much every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday last semester. As an instructor, he doesn't just lecture at us. He makes class incredibly interactive and fun. He is always so cheerful whenever he comes into the room. If you are having a bad day, he can pretty much turn it right around. It is hard not to smile when he is around. He even did an incredibly humorous puppet show for us where he had this long dialogue with the puppet. During it I was thinking, "Oh my god, Herr Bishop. WHAT are you doing?! You are crazy." But it was him. That's Jamie. Light-hearted, carefree, upbeat.

I also came across a letter that his father had written to a friend, but wanted to pass onto to others because it was relevant to them as well. I found it to be incredibly comforting, despite the somber topic. It put a rumor to rest which made me feel 100 times better. And it answered a lot of questions I had. I suppose that it was a touch of closure for me. I needed the information from the inside; from those closest to him who could see and do what I didn't get a chance to. I felt a bit better about things. But still. I'm just so sad.

And I don't know why either. It wasn't like he and I were close at all. I didn't lose a best friend. But I feel as though I have. I don't get it. Why can't I just get past this? I guess there is just something incredibly special about Jamie. Something that has touched me so deeply. Something that I can't place a finger on.

Yesterday morning, before leaving, I stopped by the memorials one last time and left flowers and messages for both Leslie and Jamie. At Jamie's memorial, I said what I needed to say, but I just couldn't leave. I couldn't walk away. I knew I had to hit the road, but all I wanted to do was just sit there. And cry.
jlundberg
May. 13th, 2008 01:09 pm (UTC)
I really have no talent for expressing such things.

I don't think you give yourself enough credit. This excerpt is beautiful, and I recognize so much in it. Thank you so much for sharing this. I'm glad to hear that you were able to visit his memorial; I was already in Singapore by then, and so I wasn't able to do anything like that. Still really don't have closure myself.

I'm sure you know this by now, but the audio recording you mention was an interview with me. It took a long time for me to be able to listen to it again after he died, but I had a very similar reaction. It was so good to hear him talking and laughing again.

The bit you mention about the puppet show just put a smile on my face. Jamie could be pretty goofy when he wanted to, and it's good to hear that he brought his sense of humor into the classroom.
starpowr
May. 13th, 2008 10:02 pm (UTC)
I am very sorry that you haven't really had much closure. I sort of understand because I didn't get to attend his funeral nor my friend's. I think that would have helped me a lot. However I did attend a memorial service that was held for Jamie, Jocelyne, and the students between the two classes. I guess that was, in a way, their funeral for me. It was very beautiful - the quotes and poems that were read by various department staff and students were so very fitting it was incredible. Maybe you will be back to the states sometime soon and can visit either the memorial or his grave?

Have you seen pictures of Jamie's stone in the memorial? I'm sure you have, but I will post two pictures just in case. :-)
Here is the original temporary memorial with one of the things I made/left for him:


And here is the permanent memorial during the one year anniversary:


Aren't you glad to have that interview? As wonderful as pictures alone are, it's so nice to have Jamie in other mediums. A student at the memorial service last year read a poem that Jamie had given them for an assignment. They were to record themselves reciting it and he made his own recording as an example. I asked the guy if he still had it, but he didn't. It would have been nice.

I'm glad I could bring a smile to your face with the puppet bit. :-) I didn't think it was very necessary to write about, but I guess it's the small things that really matter. He most definitely brought his sense of humor into the classroom. He most always started his presentation with some sort of humorous German related picture and then his activities and examples were always hilarious. He really did make learning fun - it was far from rote memorization. A lot of fellow students said that his class was one of the more enjoyable ones they had and one they would rarely ever skip.
jlundberg
May. 16th, 2008 03:09 pm (UTC)
Thank you so so much for sharing those photos. I haven't been able to see any actual pictures of memorials before now.

And yes, I'm eternally grateful that I have that interview between us. Although, after re-listening to it recently, I wish I'd done less talking and him more.

I really wish I could have seen Jamie in action as a teacher. Often in the classroom, I try to bring in my own sense of humor, and it's good to hear that Jamie did the same.
( 35 circumlocutions — Add to the Intelligent Discourse )

Latest Month

January 2012
S M T W T F S
1234567
891011121314
15161718192021
22232425262728
293031    
Powered by LiveJournal.com
Designed by Ideacodes