On May 25, 1998, this paper printed a story entitled “Two Sierra Vista students die, a third hurt in I-10 rollover.” I was that third student. After spending a month in a coma, I awoke to discover that I couldn’t walk, speak or move the right side of my body. I discovered that I had lost dear friends.
Another consequence was that I missed my high school graduation, for which I had planned to give a speech as senior class president. Considering my history, I empathize with the high school and college graduates who are also missing out on a monumental rite of passage during this pandemic. To them, I want to offer words of praise, encouragement and heartfelt gratitude for doing their part to protect our community.
First of all, I hope you will take a moment to recognize your achievement: You have accomplished a great feat. Whatever your particulars, you should be proud to have finished a chapter in your life, amidst almost-unbelievable suffering and loss.
But maybe you are not. Maybe that trauma hit too close to home, and you’re dealing with the fallout. Maybe the trauma seems distant, and you do not understand why the world is taking such drastic measures. Maybe you are too overwhelmed by the uncertainty of life’s next chapter to feel anything close to pride. That’s understandable, so I’ll feel it for you. As will your parents, teachers, professors, siblings and leaders. Congratulations.
Second, only you have the power to decide how you will move forward. In my case, I used my car accident as a springboard. I got my college degree so that I could join the Peace Corps. Then I got my MFA, which qualified me to be a lecturer at the University of Arizona. I also recently started a Ph.D. program in rhetoric and composition. Even before my accident set me back in my language ability, I had never imagined the potential to obtain such an advanced degree.
But it’s also OK to take your time to process the events of late. I often think back to the aftermath of my own accident, obeying the incessant directives from therapists and others to improve. I started college right away in the fall of 1998. College gave me hope. But sometimes I wish I had taken a year off just to be alive in this world that almost killed me. To love and be loved by my family. To stare in wonderment at my fresh scars and bask in the paradox of life, being beautiful, miraculous, painful and cruel. There’s value in the ability to pause, to dwell in the white space of a poem, as I often say.
Though whatever you do, I have no doubt you will make an impression on the world. I teach students like you every day, and I want to thank you — and all my students — for giving me hope for the future. Life will look very different when we emerge from the other side of this crisis, and your adaptability and resilience make you uniquely poised to conquer it. This pandemic is a sign of how much the world needs you.
Published by the Arizona Daily Star May 15, 2020: https://tucson.com/opinion/local/local-opinion-congrats-class-of-2020-were-all-so-proud-of-you/article_25628f27-ac1e-5556-a300-ae684bb25e6d.html