Today we finished the 10th annual Dr. Siobhan Nash-Marshall Ethics Bowl. This was the first year hosting the event without Nash, but it still felt like she was there the entire time. When she passed, I remember how quickly I threw my phone. I was in my mother’s car, disoriented as the world spun around me, shaded in the darkness of the night. I felt like it was a lie, a sick joke that warranted disgust and pity laughs. I didn’t touch the wretched thing that brought me such horrible news, at least for a few hours.
Then I reached out. I talked to the person who told me, who was just as distraught as I was. He barely held it together, so I merely had to follow his example. People didn’t know yet. People she loved. Everyone that knew her. The Little Ones. We both knew people should know, so it didn’t come too much as a surprise, so that we could figure out what to do.
We then hung up, texting everyone that we knew. We made a list of who we would contact, making sure everyone got the news. I sat for a few minutes, after sending all the texts. Then came the waves of buzzing. Confusion, sorrow, anger; All flowing through the texts like molten magma seeping through the orifices of a volcano. But I sat still, merely glancing at the bubbles pop up one over the other.
Then came the first call. I answered, told them the news, told them we don’t know any information on a memorial or a funeral, then I told them I was here, and then they hung up. Call after call, I repeated each line like a damaged record. Throwing out promises I’ll be there for them, barely taking hold of what all that entailed.
After the storm of calls and worry and memories and I-don’t-knows, I sat down to cry. I cried for an hour, then decided to drive back home. In the car, someone I didn’t expect to call me, called me. The organizer of the Ethics Bowl for all these years, and a close friend. I had reached out prior to a couple of times, but he hadn’t responded. Figured he was busy. I just never knew.
He told how long he knew, how long she was suffering from cancer. He felt so guilty, saying he stepped away from it all; the pressure was too much, he was collapsing within. He felt as if he had betrayed everyone: His friends, His colleagues, me, and Nash. I knew he felt guilty, not knowing what to do.
And so I told him, “We can sit here and discuss the ethics of responsibility, but that’s not going to help us know. We need to focus on what’s important. Just keep moving, let’s keep going forward. Now, it’s up to us to carry her torch, ensuring her mission isn’t laid to dust, or taken by the dragon.”
That’s all he needed, then we all got to work. All of us stuck together, united for one mission: Guide the next generation. Teaching the children what we can do as one. Documents, calls, emails; All sorts of things to make sure we could reach the schools, getting everything ready for the next Ethics Bowl.
United by a great loss, we stood together at Nash’s funeral, knowing that it was up to us now. The torch had been officially passed, and now we must work.
The event went amazingly well; It was our biggest Ethics Bowl yet. To commemorate Late Nash’s legacy, we managed to pull through, fill in the gaps when needed, and ultimately provided a platform for people to learn. During the event, the expected sorrow completely evaporated. Though we did not see her running down the halls, talking to all the schools, and nagging Jesse on things that fell behind, it was as if she had never left. The event never felt so alive, so jolly, so enriching. Her presence was most definitely there; she had already missed one Ethics Bowl, there was no way she would miss another one.
Still, there is a hint of bittersweetness afterwards, as we all went to her favorite place: The Cobblestone. We missed her funny remarks. We missed her conversations with the waiter. We missed how she would talk to everyone and make them feel alright. We missed how she was right there, guiding us in person. But in classic Nash fashion, there was no time for rest, there’s work to be done.
I hope she finds herself well, speaking with the likes of Aquinas, Plato, Aristotle, Boethius, and more of her kinds of people. I hope she’s telling Descartes off, letting him know how much BS he spewed. I hope she looks down from above, smiling at us running through our little paths in life. I hope she still guides us, ruffling my hair as she did after class, as she did at her dinners, and as she did at her funeral. I hope to see her again, when I’ve done my due, and made my changes in the world. I hope for many things, but that means that we just have work to do.
Rest in Peace, Nash. You deserve some rest.
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