A week has passed since I heard of Mr. Tucker’s passing, and
my last post was gusty and raw. It was intended to be such, given the temporal immediacy.
I wrote most of it on the plane ride back to Washington. Writing this post, I
have had more time to process this loss. To grieve and shed the tears I knew
would have to fall, to reawaken after my days of numbness and distraction. To
witness a most heartwarming collective sharing of memories and sympathies from
GPS alumnae worldwide. To participate in said sharing.
I have, at last, accepted that Mr. Tucker is in fact gone,
and no matter how much I wish it weren’t so, fight it, hate it. In this time of
reflection, however, RT taught me new life lessons, even in death.
1.
1. Sleeping merits perhaps the greatest escape from
grief. Falling asleep, paradoxically, reminds me that there is no true escape.
My sleep schedule last week was off to say the least: the pace of an
undergraduate institution in the last full week before exams is relentless.
Presentations, papers, exams, all around the same time. Even if I had been able
to sleep, this week I had less time to do so. But I noticed that I spent much
more time listening to music, during the day but especially at night. I picked
up on the fact that I was trying to hide from my stressed, sad thoughts. If I
had my music, I didn’t have to listen to them. But it wasn’t until I faced the
silence and darkness head-on that I did my deepest thinking and reflecting. I
needed that quiet time to feel my feelings. Keeping them pent up would have
served nobody well. So thank you, RT, for reminding me that we feel what we
feel, and we owe it to ourselves to be honest about our emotions and not run
away from them.
2. 2. The GPS community is so strong. Students,
faculty, staff, and alums. Every branch. I could not attend any of the services
last week or today, but with the kindness of many friends, I felt like I was there.
I didn’t feel 600 miles away with nobody to listen. Jessica E, Madison W, Ryn F,
and Eleanor T (who didn’t go to GPS but came to enough of my events for
honorary membership) deserve name recognition for reaching out to me and
comforting me in my time of need. For sending me updates, reassurance, solace. For
saying, “Huge hugs to you as I know you are hurting deeply
and, I cannot imagine the hurt that would come with being away from our home
that is GPS”; “I know it will be okay eventually. Today was better than
yesterday and tomorrow will hopefully be better”; “I know you would be here if
you could. He knows that too and he would want you to stay at school at take
care of academics. Stay strong”; “Hey now stop that you aren’t bothering me.
Don’t feel alone. You are so loved.” I needed all of that. So thank you, RT,
for reminding me of the power of community, the GPS community in particular,
and how powerful the bond captured inside our onyx rings is.
3. 3. The GPS community is as
indescribable to ‘outsiders’ (I use that term not disparagingly but fact of
life-ly) as it is strong to members. Don’t get me wrong; my friends and
professors have been sympathetic and accommodating. Dean Howard, who (fun fact)
is in the same PhD program as Dr. Autumn Graves, GPS’ next headmistress, emailed
my professors on my behalf to explain why I may have been ‘out of sorts’ the
past few days. Two of them sent me emails with their own condolences and
listened to my e-rambles about how special GPS is to me. All of my friends whom
I told responded in the same way. At the same time, GPS is weird. A wonderful,
delightful weird, but try explaining any one of the following to someone who
never set foot on GPS campus or even Chattanooga: the traditional uniform,
Cat/Rat, chapel talks (less foreign concept but still) and my personal
favorite, May Day. Try explaining how blissfully inevitable it is that all the
girls in each class know each other, and many from the classes above/below. How
the teachers know all of their students’ names by the second week of classes.
How girls run down the halls and give each other bear hugs, even though only a
weekend has passed since they last saw each other. Most of all, how one
headmaster, who served at the helm for 26 years, knew most, if not all, of the
current students by name and alums from years ago, and how much he loved seeing
them in the halls and at reunion events. A few skeptics wondered aloud how I
could be so attached to my headmaster. I could have told them to hear it and
weep, that their high school experience was clearly inadequate, that I wouldn’t
dignify such a question with a response. But I didn’t. That would have been
rash and unbecoming. I simply replied, “Well, we can be. We are. And we always
will be.” So thank you, RT, for reminding me that my 7 years at GPS were
all-in-all a blast, and that I have every right to be proud of my school.
I have been in the process of sending gratitude emails to a
plethora of people, mostly connected to GPS. I’m still not finished. Emotional
and academic distractions are to blame. But saying ‘Thank you for taking a
chance on me in Terpsichord’ or ‘Thank you for always welcoming me back to
campus with a hug and a smile’ or ‘Thank you for the 12 pages of Veyisms’ need
not have a formal occasion. Those words have a positive effect anytime. So
thank you, RT, for reminding me to treasure the people in my life and treat
them like the gems they are. We will miss you.
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