Really? A two-in-the-morning email?

This couldn't have been a decision that you just came up with in the last few months. You said yourself in that ridiculous e-mail that even had typos in it that you couldn't be bother to correct that you and your wife had wanted to move for a very long time. During the past two school years, I have seen you almost every single day.

Every.
Single.
Freaking.
Day.

And you were my advisor! You were the one who sat me down during my freshman year and let me completely and totally fall apart because you were worried that I wasn't going to stay and needed some help and encouragement. That was you. That was you caring. You made me play a duck call upwards of fifteen times last year. You teased me all the time. You don't just tease and leave, dude. That's low.

Or you at least say your good-byes. No, instead, the music department wakes up to an e-mail that has perhaps twenty words in it, three of which misspelled, and an attached letter. Not only was the letter directed towards everyone you were going to have to part with and, therefore, not really directed specifically towards your students, it answered nothing. The first paragraph had a point - this is where I'm going and why. But after that, I didn't need to know what your schedule was going to be like in this other school! I don't care! And then for the final parting paragraph about how much you enjoyed Northwest and its students to be two sentences long... whatever! Oh, and the kicker? Not everyone got a letter, and some people got two or three. Typical. But yeah, I don't care what you're going to be in charge of now! You know what would've been nice? An actual personal e-mail explaining everything - EVERYTHING - and then saying what was going to happen next for us. Saying whether or not they have someone else picked out to take your place.

But I liked you, sir. Some people are elated that you are leaving, but the truth is, I really liked you. You frustrated the crap out of me with your lack of organization, but still. You kept my chin up. You encouraged me. You made me laugh. You helped me make music. You actually cared about me. And now you're gone. Without an actual good-bye. The year that terrifies me, the year that I have so much stepping up into leadership to do, is the year that you decide to leave. What the heck, sir? And Joel is even leaving, which throws another responsibility on me that I have to hurry and grow to fill. Freaking sweet.

Everything is going to change because you're gone.
But what do you care. You're gone.