The University of Saint Francis has been good to us. We moved here in 2011 because my husband got a job teaching business there. He loved it; he had a freshly minted PhD in Organizational Management, and his income went up ten thousand dollars a year. He loved having spiritual time set apart right before lunch; no classes were scheduled during that time. He could mention God and quote the Bible in his classes. He taught ethics and service and he served the community, especially on Martin Luther King Jr. Day in January, my husband’s birthday. The entire college set up service projects on that day.

He had summers off if he wanted, though he usually taught one or two summer courses. In the summers he led scouts on high adventures, canoeing, biking, hiking, whitewater rafting. He took his wife and children to see extended family every summer, one year to the east to see his family, the next to the west to see her family. He liked our neighborhood; it was eight minutes from work by car. He sometimes took the bus and sometimes biked to work. More often he drove his little silver car, a stark contrast to the large van I drove.

He worked with businessmen in the community, the heads of banks and manufacturing, the owner of the Komets hockey team. He placed students in their businesses as interns; several of his students became their employees. He took me to college banquets and events; everyone I met was kind and cheerful, even when complaining. They welcomed both of us, and all of them knew him or of him. He felt connected to Fort Wayne in a way he had not committed to other towns we lived in.

The biggest financial benefit was not the salary; four of our seven children spent time in classes at St. Francis. Because he was an employee, their classes were free. We still paid for books and campus fees, but the bulk of the cost disappeared. Eventually three of our children graduated from the university, two of them finishing after he passed away.

I already had an associates degree; I started on a bachelor’s degree at St. Francis. Classes had been going for three weeks when he died. People in the college immediately reached out to me, wanting to help. They and others brought in meals for a month. My instructors said they would give me more time to finish homework; I could even finish during the next semester.

I said no, sadly. My husband did all these things… I had too many pieces to pick up. My own bachelor’s degree was not one of them.

We still receive mailings from the university. My three graduates receive homecoming and alumni notices. I receive info on camps and art exhibits. Recently came a fundraising brochure, asking if we wanted to pay for a memorial brick. They’re paving an area near the center of campus.

I suppose that would be nice, in an academic sort of way. My youngest children are not attending St. Francis and probably won’t, at least not immediately. One of my children worked there as an adult but she recently switched jobs to another college. No, no brick for us. What caught my eye was this: the face on the flyer is the instructor of the class I was taking when my husband died. He’s a good man, married with several children. I enjoyed his classes, though I never met him in person until after my husband had died. The lectures were all recorded and posted online. How much of a connection is that?