This time last year, I was feeling pretty good about where I was in life. A week of classes plus final projects, presentations, and just one exam separated me from being a college senior, a day I had been awaiting since freshman fall. This time last year, I had just been home for Easter break, had lunch with my 'senior babies' who were about to graduate. This time last year, my family and I were a little over a month out from bringing our (still at this point nameless) puppy home. I was running the metaphorical home stretch to good times. Then life put a giant bramble in my path. I tripped and face planted.
This time last year, I got a heart-shattering text while in line for airport security on my return to Washington: Randy Tucker, my former headmaster, had been killed in a car crash. This time last year, I sat numb in my airplane seat wishing it would turn around. This time last year, I went to my Faculty-in-Residence and Professor, Dean Howard, because he had heard enough of my GPS stories to understand where I was coming from, as much as someone who has never even set foot on the campus could. Plus, he knew Dr. Graves, Mr. Tucker's future permanent replacement, as they were in the same PhD program. This time last year if I wasn't sitting stone-faced in class (if you have known me in an academic setting, you know this is atypical for me), I was in my room moping, sometimes with tears, feeling isolated and homesick
I re-read my blog posts from last year documenting my processing Mr. Tucker's death. Thankfully I was in the library, for if I had been alone, I would have cried. Even today the reality of the situation has twinge of improbability.
This post's title comes from a song by Edie Brickell and the Bohemians. I have a random memory of hearing one of their CDs when I was little. How does the rest of the song, much less any other line of the song, go? Couldn't tell you. I guess it stuck with me because black and blue are GPS' colors. Anyway, the chorus sings,
"Baby baby black and blue, time sure took a toll on you. What you what you gonna do tomorrow? I don't want to see you cry, got to make you realize you got more to give me than your sorrow."
Yes, Mr. Tucker, time did take a toll on me. Thinking about who I was this time last year and this time this year, I am forced to think of two different people. I did sulk and pout and mope for a greater-than-usual portion of this past year over sundry phenomena, all of them brambles over which I had to trip. I don't want to revisit those. RT wouldn't want to see me cry. I don't want to see me cry, either. So I'll talk about [one of] the best gifts life gave me in the past twelve months: Sweet Randi.
Oh, that puppy. If I haven't told you the story, I will confirm that indeed she is named in memory of Mr. Tucker. My parents and I were having trouble choosing a name we all liked. Randi's a Tibetan Spaniel, and at first we wanted to give her a Tibetan name. We all Googled the same websites and found nothing we thought would suit her. My mom and I liked the name Charlie when we were originally getting a male dog, and we thought it could work for a female. Dad nixed it. Repeat for a plethora of other names, just switch up who proposed it and who vetoed it. Well the breeder wanted to know the puppy's name so she could start using it and get the puppy accustomed to it before coming to our home. It hit me as I sat at my dorm desk and looked at Mr. Tucker looking back at me from the photo of us at graduation: Randy. Minor tweak: Randi, for a feminine touch. Short for Miranda. I was set on it. Miraculously, both parents were on board too. Thank you, RT, for making that happen.
She came home on a Sunday. I sat on the green couch next to the elevator door (#olderparentsperks), waiting for its mechanic hum to signal that my parents were finally home. When my dad opened the door, I couldn't believe how tiny she was. Under 5 lbs at that point, because she was 5.something on her first vet visit. Here she is after taking Annie's dog bed as her own.
I'll probably write a Randi-in-family anniversary post, so I'll save the many more Randi stories for that one. But I will say that telling people the story behind her name has brought me joy because I help keep Mr. Tucker's story going. I remember all the good gave to the world and how I am one of many who continue to benefit from his vision.
So what am I going to do tomorrow? In a literal sense, I will go to my penultimate Civ 2 class as the American Studies teaching assistant (don't get me started on how much I am going to miss my students). Then I will likely get food from my last Farmer's Market as an undergrad and hang out with Mary and Alison. Then I'll keep plodding along with thesis edits until I either 1) can't keep my eyelids open or 2) can't look at the words without a negative physiological reaction like nausea. Then I'll prepare for the next tomorrow. Riveting, I know.
Metaphorically, I will graduate Phi Beta Kappa from a top university. I will begin Georgetown Law and (cross my fingers) figure out what I am meant to do with my life, and my JD. I will maintain my connections to GPS by attending reunions, visiting friends who either live or visit DC, and staying in touch with teachers. All of these things I can do because I went to GPS and because I have Mr. Tucker's legacy to inspire me. And it always will.
No comments:
Post a Comment