On Not Saying Goodbye to Terry Sehr
Its been a tough year, not only my Jim, but Jim Sanders, and David Watts, and now Terry Sehr. Each one of the best. Below is dedicated to Terry and his family.
Unfortunately, I’ve come to know grief much too intimately this past year, as so many of us have in this inexplicable year and a half. When I got the call about Terry, I was outdoors repairing yet another broken thing on my property. It seemed fitting that I was struggling with trying to make wires work. As if shocked by those wires, I was immediately thrown into that too familiar state of disbelief and denial. I’m betting most of us gathered here felt the same, and will for a longtime about not being able to say goodbye to Terry. So, when I was asked to speak today, I wasn’t sure if I could manage it, and I’m still not sure I can, but I do know that the one gift I can offer to Terry and to those he loved—to his wife Kathy, his children Carly and Evan, his parents Evelyn and Bill, to each of his family members, and to each of us is to say goodbye and share my stories of Terry.
Here is the thing that I’ve learned about grief and stories. Each time we lose someone, we come to grief uniquely as if the first time because frankly it is. It's the only time we’ve lost them. Today I am the only person who has lost Terry as a student, colleague, co-author, and joint owner of a Neuroscience course. His parents are the only ones to lose Terry as their son, Carly and Evan as his daughter and son, and Kathy is the only person to lose him as her life’s companion and husband. Each of us has lost Terry uniquely and with this, a part of our selves. So now it’s up to us to share our Terry stories for I’ve found that’s the way we support one another and keep Terry’s brilliant mind, brilliant friendship, and brilliant smile in our midst.
My last story of Terry was as a dear and trusted collaborator and colleague. He was the only one I entrusted to teach my MFA “Neuroscience for Designers” course when I unexpectedly had to take a leave. I enjoyed sharing the course content with him and in learning from the material he added and how he expanded it. However, my first acquaintance with him was one of a bit of intimidation when he applied to our MFA in Emergent Media. You see in reviewing his application, I learned then that he was already highly accomplished with degrees in engineering and computer science and a long tenured career. But when I got to really know Terry, I understood completely. He was at a point in his life where he was looking for the opportunity to do and learn MORE. He was looking to bring his passion for creating to the forefront—to deeply reflect, to discover the possibilities inherent where art and technology fuse, and to uncover the digital artist he felt he was. In my mind’s eye I can still see him deeply engaged, creating prototypes, attempting to translate natural movement with sensors into transparent plastic “leaves”. If I turn my viewpoint there is Terry with his art coming full fruition in his masterful Thesis work. Terry’s digital narratives made us look more deeply and question our political systems and media’s portrayal long before the now well-known unraveling that would occur in US politics and media.
Turning from Terry’s story as an artist, I am honored to have known the stories that illuminate his beautiful capacity to collaborate, to teach, to wonder, to share that wonder—in essence—to love. On the surface, Terry may have seemed quiet or shy but in actuality it was his strength. If you saw how he interacted with folks, you would’ve seen his gift. He would work patiently with students gently encouraging and quietly prodding open their thinking: gifting them with self-discovery. I’ve seen his delight demonstrating their joint inventions in public—helping enthusiastic children don the Icarus wings or climb into SpaceBox never complaining though constantly repairing the damage that would occur to their early proto-designs.
In the same vein, Terry was a wonderful collaborator that I got to know when we co-wrote Champlain College’s first patent application. Together we persisted, learning the tedious format and legal language required, returning time and again with rewrites to Tom, the patent practitioner. We were told it was rare to get a patent in the first pass but indeed we did. I believe it was because of Terry’s meticulous work. Terry was invaluable to the SandBox team and I think others here, Ken, Jonathan, Adam, our students and colleagues, will deeply miss working beside him.
Vermont has lost a great talent and a true gentle man.
I think my addition to Terry’s stories is my recognition of how he believed in each of us and where we were going together. He believed in our ability to reach, to get “there”, and “there” was always a place of wonder and integrity. And as we made our way with Terry as our humble guide and guru, that's when you’d see it—his gentle joy expressed by the way he fully listened, in his patience, and of course in his brilliant smile. That’s how I’ll hold Terry in my heart. For as Ranata Suzuki has written
“If you cannot hold me in your arms, then hold my memory in high regard. And if I cannot be in your life, then at least let me live in your heart.”
And I hope in my sharing, Terry becomes more alive in your hearts, you too can see him smiling because he believes we’ll get there. Together we stitch our stories together and collectively embrace him in our hearts with Terry nudging us onward ever our traveling companion.
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