All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players; they have their exits and their entrances, And one man in his time plays many parts As You Like It, William Shakespeare
We lost a legend. For those who didn’t know Ron, this is hard to explain, but Ron did something for each student and even more for those who grew from that role into his true friends in life.
Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, So do our minutes hasten to their end;
Each changing place with that which goes before, In sequent toil all forwards do contend. Sonnet 60, William Shakespeare
As a teacher, Ron seemed to provide to each student exactly what they needed at that moment, challenging them, urging each to nd their potential, to nd their dream and understand how the puzzle pieces t. In the theatre this brought out the best and in life you wanted to make him proud.
To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub; For in that sleep of death what dreams may come When we have shuffled o this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there’s the respect
That makes calamity of so long life. Hamlet, William Shakespeare
Ron and I had been working on bringing an old script to life. He wrote an adaptation of “ e Mouse that Roared” and I have been scoring it. After learning of his condition, I opened his script and even at the edge of death, Ron was speaking to me:
The nightbirds in the dell
Are whispering farewell
And telling us it’s time to part. Among our souvenirs
There’s not a place for tears.
Let memories be sweet, sweetheart. Ron Mielech
I have questioned much in life. Ron knew that my path led far from my dreams. Although he never mentioned it, every meeting, phone call, conversation included a thread that kept a dream tied to a piece of his soul. I
was able to share with him what he meant to me and so many others. Steve and Nancy (Ron’s son and wife) gave me a gift I can never return. e gift of so much time as he hastened to the steps of heaven. An unimaginable gift I did not deserve. Time.
If you read this line, remember not
The hand that writ it; for I love you so
That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot If thinking on me then should make you woe. Sonnet 71, William Shakespeare
All gifts, large and small, are vital to our future. Please consider donating to Thomas More College online today!