My last two years of college I lived in my sorority house. It was and continues to be one of the best two years of my entire life. The friends that I made and lived with are still some of my most dear friends. When people say it’s a sisterhood, they truly mean it. These are women that I go to for comfort, support, guidance, and even just a laugh. I know it sounds super cheesy for those of you who have never experienced it (I’ve heard it a million times,) but these are women that are a part of the greatest memories I have from college and beyond. And after all, they did lead me to MacKay (his sister is a sorority sister.)
While living in the house, I did my best to maintain a high level of studiosness (we were there to get an education after all,) while still having the time of my life. I managed both pretty well for being in my early twenties and completely self-absorbed.
Each morning, as I’d get ready for some of my early classes, I went into our dining room and kitchen area to grab some breakfast. And every morning, as I walked into the kitchen, I was greeted by one of the kindest people I’ve ever met. We called her Ms. Joyce. Ms. Joyce was a cook for our sorority house far before I ever got there. She was loved by all. Every morning she asked me what I’d like for breakfast. And when I could have easily just grabbed a bowl of cereal, she made sure that she made me eggs (any style that I wanted) or pancakes (with choclate chips) because she wanted me to eat well. For lunch or dinner when there was only meat items on the menu (I was a vegetarian,) she made me something special. In a sorority with over 100 girls, she made me feel like I was the only one. When I was hundreds of miles from my family, she made me feel like I was a part of hers. I’d look forward to waking up each morning just so I could walk in that kitchen and greet her before I started my day.
This morning I woke up to a Facebook post from a sorority sister that showed the obituary for Ms. Joyce. She was only 66. Ms. Joyce retired a few years after we graduated, and I probably only saw her a few times in between. And not one of those times did I tell Ms. Joyce how special she was to me. Not once did I tell her how much she meant to me for not only cooking my food for four years, but for being such a positive force for me during a time in my life when I was so into myself and very little else. For me, college was about having fun, it was about going to football games on the weekends, it was about boys, about figuring out which bar we were going to. It wasn’t about telling people thank-you. And I deeply regret that.
Now, more than 10 years later, I do look back on those times with great fondess, but I also see how much I’ve grown as a person since then. How much it’s become so much less about me and more about those that help shape me. And I want you to know that Ms. Joyce was one of those people.
It’s too late to tell her that, but I want to tell you so that you can take a little bit of what Ms. Joyce left with me and every single person that stepped through her kitchen. She always left with a smile, with her genorousity, and her kindness. And she left us with the true meaning of selflessness.
Thank you Ms. Joyce. May you forever rest in peace. And may we all greet each other the way you did in your kitchen.
