Category: Tragedy

But for the Grace of God

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

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Home is supposed to be a safe place, somewhere to rest, recharge and be free. We select the places where we live according to our means and our preferences. We fill our houses with people and things and memories. Our abodes often hold clues as to who we are and what is most important to us. A home is more than just a structure. It is a backdrop for our experiences, the slate on which we express the inner workings of our very souls. When the places where we live are invaded either by mankind or nature it is grievously wrong. Somehow we all understand the sense of loss when we learn of someone whose home has been destroyed. The feeling is visceral and basic to our natures. When the tragedy is close to our own homes it becomes even more real. “But for the grace of God…” we utter and wonder how we have been so fortunate while others suffer.

Living along or near the Gulf Coast has always been a kind of crap shoot. The land is barely above sea level and storms from the sea are inevitable. Over time the manmade stretches of concrete and buildings make it more and more difficult for the water from the rains that fall to find a way back to the ocean. The land is often swampy, spongy after a deluge. Humans must engineer retention ponds, irrigation systems and levees to overcome nature’s tendencies to flood the land in such areas. As our populations grow we become more daring and build on acreage that has been empty for all time. The developers assure us that we will be fine because there have never been floods in this area. We forget to consider that there have never been people in such places either. We really don’t know for certain what will happen until the rains pound on the land. When we find that we were wrong it is too late to prevent the human misery.

The metropolitan area of Houston is my home. I have lived here for most of my sixty seven years. I know which areas are high enough to withstand heavy rains and which have flooded over the years. I have watched in horror as deluges from the sky have inundated entire neighborhoods. I have been stranded and unable to reach my home when the skies opened up in fury. I both fear and respect the ways of nature because I have witnessed their destructive forces. I have been lucky in that regard but I never feel completely immune from the possibility of one day finding water seeping into the rooms of my house. I have long ago prepared for the worst. I carry insurance for both the winds of hurricanes and floods caused by incessant rain. There is an ax carefully stored inside my attic in case I must create an exit to my roof in order to find refuge from rising water. I have a ladder that will allow me to climb safely from one of my second story windows. I have these things because of images that I have seen again and again. I want to be ready for any eventuality but hope that I never have to use the tools that allow me to sleep more soundly even when the storms are raging over my head.

The state of Louisiana is like a beloved relative to me. The people there are simpatico with those of us from Houston. We share common experiences much like cousins. The same plants that thrive in New Orleans do well in my backyard. The heavy blanket of humidity that marks summers here are found in the cities and towns of our neighboring Gulf Coast state. We are friendly people who embrace life. We face the same dangers from the storms that inevitably come our way.

The recent floods in Baton Rouge have been heartbreaking. This wasn’t supposed to happen there. When Hurricane Katrina threatened New Orleans many of those who fled from its fury sought refuge in the capitol city. It was farther inland and surely a safer way to hunker down until the storm passed. When New Orleans was seemingly destroyed beyond repair eleven years ago there were thousands of people who gave up on the idea of ever living there again. They did not have the emotional strength to risk enduring such an ordeal one more time. They had lost everything and would have to rebuild but they would do so in a more secure place. Some of them chose Baton Rouge or Houston  or San Antonio, anyplace that offered shelter from the horror.

I watched the people from New Orleans pour into my town like refugees with barely the clothes on their backs. They were frightened every time lightning lit up the sky, thunder roared and rain pounded on the roof. Their scars slowly healed and they moved on, leaving entire lifetimes behind. It was gut wrenching to witness and I remember feeling grossly inept in helping them. I also realized that none of us are entirely immune from such tragedy. Be it hurricanes, storms, tornadoes, wildfires, earthquakes or tsunamis we are all potentially in harms way. We never quite know when our circumstances will change. Mother Nature surprises us again and again.

This summer has been especially difficult. Fires still rage in both northern and southern California. Windstorms blow in Arizona. Floods have overtaken cities and towns in a swath that stretches across the country. Among those affected is the city of Baton Rouge, a place that has endured unspeakable manmade and natural tragedies in the space of only weeks. Somehow their sorrow seems all too personal and terrifying.

I listened to an interview with a woman whose home was under water following the rains that unrelentingly fell a couple of weeks ago. She had once lived in New Orleans but when the levees broke eleven years ago the waters swept away every possession that she had ever owned. She found a welcoming kindness when she fled to Baton Rouge and decided to stay. She worked hard to create a new life for herself and her family. She only recently purchased a new home. She was happy and proud of herself. She had been strong and resilient. She was careful. She had asked if her new neighborhood had ever flooded. She wondered if she needed to purchase flood insurance. She was told over and over again that she need not worry about such things. She was safe. She was finally home.

She loved everything about her new house. She didn’t have much to put in it but the place was filled with love. The people around her were friendly and helpful. Her terrible journey seemed to be over. She felt that she might finally rest. When the unthinkable happened and she once again watched the water encroach on her world her resolve wavered. She feels broken but determined. She tries to smile but only tears come from her heart. She wants to believe that she will one day feel safe again but somehow that seems to be an impossible task. When I saw this woman trying so desperately to be optimistic and brave my heart literally burst open in a flood of empathy. I felt her pain.

It is fine to wait for our government to come to the aid of those who are in need. We certainly hope that our President will understand their situation. What matters most is that those of us who have the means find ways to help them through their ordeal. They will need much in the coming days and weeks. There are ways to make a difference. We can give of our time, our talents and our treasure. Every tiny effort is multiplied a thousand fold whenever we work together. New Orleans rose from the dead because love poured into that city from all around the world. So too must we do our part to assist the good people of Baton Rouge. We need to loudly send the message that we will not forget them in their hour of need.

“But for the grace of God…”

Easy Does It

Published on by Sharron Burnett1 Comment

toleranceI’ve only felt total revulsion for a handful of people in my lifetime. One was a boyfriend that my mother had who was a real true blue racist and emotional abuser. Listening to him spout his political views made my skin crawl. Even worse was the power that he seemed to have over my mom. She eventually rid herself of him but not without a great deal of trauma. Around the same time I also abhorred President Richard Nixon. I sensed that he was a crook long before the rest of the world caught up to my thinking. I suppose that there are moments in everyone’s life when they find themselves in the role of a hater. It was an uncomfortable feeling for me because I generally attempt to find redeeming qualities in virtually every soul that I meet. For some reason those two were so vile that I was unable to open my heart to them.

In spite of my own experience of falling victim to hateful ways I still believe that the vast majority of people worldwide try very hard to be good. For the most part the haters are outliers and yet when we are victimized by them we tend to generalize their evilness to entire populations. The young man who shot up the church in Charleston was a white power deviant who represented only himself and a small group of people who lean to the far right. He in no way was typical of the average white person. The black man who shot five police officers in Dallas had his own set of problems none of which reflect the hearts and minds of African Americans in general. The list goes on and on. Muslims who kill party goers in San Bernadino are actually quite different from the majority of peaceful Muslims who live in our country. The shooter of school children in Connecticut was not a typical gun owner. Criminals and rapists come in all forms. To assert that they are mostly confined to a particular ethnicity is faulty thinking designed to rile unhealthy emotions. Of late so many of our politicians seem intent on making sweeping generalizations designed mainly to feather their own nests rather than to solve our real problems. The divisiveness that they are spreading does little good for any of us and leads to a choosing of sides that has no room for compromise.

We sadly play along with this ridiculousness all too often. If we decide that we don’t like some of President George W. Bush’s actions, we refuse to give him credit for doing anything right. He becomes a caricature that we only view as a lying idiot. If we have problems with President Obama we never allow ourselves to congratulate him even when he in fact does something remarkable. We only note his flaws and mistakes. We assert that haters are going to hate but never put ourselves in that category. We complain that our presidential candidates are ethically challenged but rarely mention our own making our country like the most dysfunctional of families. Perhaps it’s time for each of us to reflect a bit to determine if we are unfairly judging individuals or entire groups. If the recent spate of violent events has proven anything it is that we have problems that will require us to work together and yet we generally continue to carp back and forth. It is long past time for each of us to admit that all humans, including ourselves, are imperfect but rarely all bad. We should save the hatefulness that we dredge up so readily and so often for those who are truly evil.

I recently saw a video on Facebook of rival protestors who took the time to talk with each other and find common ground in the midst of what might have been a heated encounter. They broke through their own preconceived notions and by the end of their discussion they realized that they actually wanted the same things. Instead of being distracted by anger and division they realized that they would be more powerful by joining forces. It was a beautiful sight to see them linking arms and hugging one another. It’s something that I believe we need to try more often because the anger that seems so rampant surely isn’t helping anyone.

The Black Lives Matter group has brought our attention to the concerns that so many of our African American brothers and sisters have. The statistics show that they are far more likely to be stopped by police officers than any other group, often for little or no reason. For a perfectly honest, hard working black man to be killed over a broken tail light is absurd and yet such tragedies do occur. Unless the Black community raises awareness of such injustices we may never truly understand what life is like for people of color. Sadly some of the recent unnecessary killings of innocents or those whose infractions were minor have placed a spotlight on a dirty little secret that most of us never have to endure.

I often invite my former students to visit my home. I should not have to worry about whether those of minority status will be stopped by the police as they travel in my neighborhood but I always do. I warn them to stay within the 30 mile per hour speed limit that is strictly enforced by local law enforcement officers and pray that if for some reason they are targeted they will remain calm and not exacerbate the situation. I can only imagine how their parents feel whenever they go out into the world if I am so nervous for them.

On the other hand, the vast majority of law enforcement officers take grave risks on a daily basis just to keep us from harm. I cannot even imagine how much courage it must take to run into a dangerous situation when the rest of us are fleeing from it. We cannot generalize bad motives to all of them. Instead we need to work to ensure that criminal justice reforms enhance their jobs while extending fairness to all people. Perhaps we need to rethink how best to use their services. It may be time to relieve them from having to worry so much about broken tail lights or past due license tags.

Whenever we find ourselves leaning toward group think we should pause to assess the situation and our own prejudices. It is never healthy to jump to conclusions or accept statements based solely on appearances or alliances. We can’t fall into that kind of trap regardless of how we believe that our problems should be solved.

I remember a time when I took a group of honor students from South Houston Intermediate to Moody Gardens in Galveston. They were exceptionally well behaved and I was quite proud of them especially in comparison to a more middle class set of students who were also there. I was stunned when the employees continuously yelled at my kids for no apparent reason. It was as though they believed that my pupils were bound to create problems simply because of the way they looked. Like me, my principal eventually became so fed up with the workers’ negative attitudes that he reported them to their supervisors. I have never quite gotten over my embarrassment and outrage over the totally unfair treatment that traumatized all of our group. Since my kids were both well behaved and polite the only explanation for what happened was that they were being targeted because of their brown skin.

If anything positive is to come of the horrific days that we have been experiencing it should be a willingness to embrace all good people, which we know is the great majority. It’s time for us to be honest with one another and quit reverting to soundbites, absurdities, propaganda, and stereotyping. We have to consider that most Republicans may actually be nice and that the majority of Democrats have the best of intentions. It’s important for us to dialogue rather than revolt, show tolerance rather than prejudice. If those who would be our leaders can’t seem to work together without casting generalized aspersions on all members of the other side then we citizens need to take the lead. It is important that we not allow ourselves to fall victim to hyperbole regardless from whence it comes. We need to be the kind of people who cross over the lines that divide us to embrace our fellow human beings. We know its the right thing to do.

Being What You Want Them To Be

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

babyfeetLanguage is a very funny thing. When we speak or write down our thoughts we generally have a purpose and a specific meaning in mind. Once our words move beyond our control, too far from us to explain them, they may take on a life of their own that we never intended. Just recently I wrote what was supposed to be a very complimentary essay but because of the focus that I chose and the ideas that I left out, my attempt at honoring someone became instead a means of slighting a person whom I hold in great esteem. It took some effort for me to unravel the gooey mess that I had inadvertently created. Thus it is and always will be whenever we attempt to convey ideas and thus is the reason that I will most likely anger some people with today’s blog.

The court of public opinion is awash with horror over the sentencing of Brock Turner for three felony convictions of sexual assault. Not only are people aghast that his punishment appears to be too lenient but they are even critical of comments that his father made in a letter to the judge pleading for a measure of sympathy for Brock. None of this might be such big news were it not for a touching and powerful letter from the victim of Brock’s assault that has captivated those who have taken the time to read it. She is a gifted writer who has managed with great clarity to convey the horror of living through such an attack and its life changing aftermath. Her eloquence brings her heartbreak to life, making her terror all the more real. Only a soul without a shred of sensitivity might read her account without experiencing a strong and sympathetic reaction.

I have been greatly saddened since hearing about this case and realizing that it is but one of thousands that occur on a regular basis. Long ago when I was about the same age as the victim in this instance, I lived in an apartment project that had a wonderful community spirit. Many of us gathered outside in the evenings to share stories of our days and to relax just a bit while we watched our children play. One of the women that I met in this way was returning from the laundry room one afternoon when she was followed by a stranger that she did not notice. Before she realized what was happening he was inside her home putting a knife to her throat. He threatened to kill her and her baby if she made even a sound. Then he violently raped her. She was never the same. The incident broke her once lively spirit. She couldn’t even stand to live in the rooms that reminded her of the attack so she went to her mother’s home while her husband prepared to move the family away permanently. The incident both frightened and saddened those who had known her and to make matters worse her attacker was never found.

I will never in any way condone what Brock Turner did on that January night in the aftermath of a fraternity party. There are no valid excuses. He may not have ever done anything similar in all of his days on earth but it only took that one time for him to forever ruin the life of the woman of whom he took advantage. He certainly trashed his own future as well which is what happens when one forgets to abide by the laws of common decency. He may be wishing everyday that he might go back in time and not do this despicable act or get drunk or even go to the frat party but what is done is done and he will pay the price of his actions forevermore. He will ever again be in contention for a spot on an Olympic swimming team. He will be lucky to get any kind of decent job given his record of three felony convictions. Everywhere that he attempts to go he will have to register as a sex offender. He is and will probably always be a pariah in our society because of his unthinking and offensive actions. He has not only harmed a woman who can’t quite move beyond what he did to her, but he has also dishonored his family and all of the people who once believed in him. He will have to live with his crime for the rest of his days and that is as it should be.

I have not been able to erase Brock Turner’s victim from my mind since I first read the vivid account of her continuing ordeal. I feel a level of sympathy for his parents as well for Brock has irreparably harmed them. Raising children is the most difficult and frightening job that there is. All of us who have attempted this know of the worries, sleepless nights and mistakes that we make. We hope and pray that we have said all that we need to say and that our children will truly understand the lessons we have taught them. When we first allow them freedom and independence we try to quell our fears but in truth we are always nervous because we understand that the who they will eventually become are not just a products of our making, but also of the many people who influence them along the way. The truth is that there comes a time when we as parents exert less and less control over them. We have to watch them from afar. Only when time and their actions demonstrate that they are indeed the good and honest citizens that we taught them to be do we begin to relax.

Brock Turner’s father wrote a letter to the judge asking for mercy for his son just as most of us might have done for one of our children. His persuasive ability and way with words is the polar opposite of the victim who so captivated our hearts with her inspiring essay. His remarks are so tone deaf and poorly expressed that it might have been better had he not written anything at all. That being said, defending our kids even when they have disappointed us beyond measure is what we parents do. I cannot fault him for his efforts. He loves his son and I suspect that the negative interpretations that people have placed on his thoughts are not what he meant at all. Now he is being castigated and blamed for his son’s actions as though he is somehow responsible. Without knowing anything about this man or what his household is like, the public has jumped to negative conclusions that may or may not have merit. We have convicted Brock’s father without a trial or evidence. Our judgement of him is based on hearsay and a badly crafted note and it is morally wrong to convict him without proof that his negligence or influence somehow created a criminal.

We might be better served if instead of gossiping on the Facebook wall and Twitter universe we were to talk with our children both male and female. Each of them has certain behavioral responsibilities and we must be certain that they learn how to keep their baser human instincts in check. The temptations that they will encounter are many and part of our job is to train them to recognize dangerous situations and to know what to do when we are no longer around to monitor them. It is incumbent on all parents to talk frequently and openly with their kids. Our young need to be taught how to respect themselves and in turn provide that same reverence to everyone with whom they interact. We can’t drum human decency into their minds often enough and it is never too early to start such conversations and to demonstrate what we mean by our own examples. We need to be what we want them to be.

One of my grandsons who was only in elementary school complained about a student who was discussing sexual ideas in a very crass and demeaning way at lunch each day. The teachers and counselors made little effort to stop the offending commentaries and instead implied that my grandson just needed to lighten up a bit. As long as our society encourages a “boys will be boys attitude” there will continue to be cases of abuse like Brock Turner’s. As a society have to consider the impact of our tendencies to avoid talking with our children about the uglier aspects of human behavior. Instead of wagging our self righteous fingers at Brock Turner’s father we need to be certain that we are doing all that we can to educate our kids and help them to understand the importance of honoring every human life in every circumstance.

A terrible tragedy has ruined the lives of many, many people. The victim will never again have the sense of trust that she once possessed. Her family and friends will feel her pain and worry about her forevermore. Brock’s parents will be wracked with guilt, shame and humiliation. Brock Turner will pay the price of his actions and it will be heavy whether he spends time in jail or has to find a place for himself in a world where many view him as a monster. Nobody wins and all because he did not stop himself from performing grotesque actions on a woman that he did not know. Let his story be a tale of warning for all of us and let it remind us of our own responsibilities.

Begin With the Little Ones

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

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Yesterday my niece posted a photo of her eight year old daughter lying in bed grieving over the death of a special little kitten. The image was heartbreaking because it illustrated the depth of the little girl’s feelings. She was so obviously bereft. Her mother sweetly acknowledge the youngster’s emotions, noting that the child was only eight but appeared to have the sensitivity of someone far older. Because my niece is a wise and excellent mother she was more than prepared to acknowledge and deal with her child’s sorrow. I have little doubt that the beautiful child will be able to work out her feelings under the loving guidance of her mom.

Sometimes we adults tend to believe that there is a sliding scale of human emotions running from one to ten with ten being the most powerful. We assume that children’s feelings lie somewhere along the lower end and that only adults are capable of feeling the full force of sorrow. The truth is that children are just as likely to endure the maximum impact of difficult situations as older individuals but they don’t always know how to understand or even express their pain. Quite often they either act out in ways that appear naughty or they withdraw into a world of confusion. Unless an adult recognizes that their behavior is a sign of inner turmoil, they may end up repressing thoughts and feelings that need to be expressed.

Like the my niece’s little girl I was only eight when I experienced a great loss, the death of my father. There was a swirl of activity around me as friends and family gathered to console my mother. She was, of course, quite bereft and almost incapable of functioning. She was in a state of shock for days and only managed to pull herself together because she was determined to care for me and my brothers. She was above all a loving mother. Unfortunately almost all of the well intentioned adults seemed to believe that I was far too young to even comprehend the magnitude of what had happened much less have strong feelings. When they came to help my mama they shooed me outside to play. They thought that I needed distractions from the whispering and crying that was unfolding inside the house. Their intentions were good. They truly believed that they were protecting me from the harsh realities. They did not realize how much I needed to be part of the grieving process.

I was feeling tortured and confused. I desperately wanted more than anything to talk about what had happened to our family. I spent my days barely holding together with an act that convinced everyone that I was totally oblivious. At night when I believed that nobody was listening I cried myself to sleep. My thoughts were so unresolved that for a time my personality changed. I became fearful and hyper-responsible. I somehow felt that it was up to me to be a very good girl for my mother’s sake, even as I wanted to scream and act out.

I suppose that it was natural for the grownups caring for me to think that my lack of response to my father’s death was proof that I was too young to have a concept of what was happening. They were probably even relieved that I appeared to be so passive and unconcerned. The reality was that I was in dire need of counseling but nobody ever picked up on that fact. I dealt with the terror inside my head on my own, sometimes convinced that something was wrong with me.

Over time I reflected on my situation and my personal feelings and I was able to self-heal. Reading and observing led me to understand and console myself. I eventually overcame the poisons that stayed so long in my mind but I suspect that I have a few more scars than I might have had I been given the opportunity to talk with a kind and caring adult who was willing to value my emotions and assure me that I was normal.

I suspect that my life-long love of working with troubled children has been a way of coping with my own inner demons. I have found that all that little lost souls sometimes need is someone willing to listen to them with respect. Our understanding of the human mind has evolved even in my lifetime. We now realize that children are as emotionally complex as adults and that in times of trauma they require the kind of gentle and loving care that my niece has afforded her little girl. We no longer underestimate the powerful emotions elicited by loss. We have come to realize that each of us no matter the age reacts to tragedy and trauma in ways that must be addressed and honored.

Most schools today are staffed with counselors and observant teachers who watch for signs from their students that something is amiss. Modern day parents talk openly with their little ones and have age appropriate discussions about the life and death situations that affect them. Children are generally allowed to express themselves in quiet and safe conversations.

We have come a very long way in understanding the human psyche but there are still terrible problems in our society. The young man who began a shooting spree here in Houston over the weekend had served in Afghanistan. Family members said that he had come to believe that society was about to collapse. I have little doubt that what he had done and seen in war had somehow broken him. There is no telling what was going through his mind. The sad truth is that our veterans are suffering in particular. Each day there are far too many of them committing suicide or considering acts of violence. We have let many of them down by neglecting to help them to deal with the stress and the terror that they have endured. All too often we send them back home to deal with the upheaval inside their minds without the assistance that they need.

There has been a worldwide argument over whether or not the gorilla at the Cincinnati zoo should have been killed but I haven’t heard anyone mention the needs of the young child who created the furor. He may not be able to express what this event did to him but I can almost guarantee that its impact will be dramatic. I have known children who were subjected to horrific abuse when they were infants and toddlers. They were unable to recall the details but somehow felt the enormity of the pain well into their teenage years. Their anger and confusion often expressed itself in outbursts, sexual promiscuity, depression and violence. They had been damaged and nobody had taken the time to help them properly heal simply because it was thought that they would not remember what had happened to them.

We must love, cherish and protect anyone who endures tragedy. Without the proper unpacking of the varied thoughts and emotions that result from harm or loss, repressed feelings may lead to horrible consequences. It is right and good to understand that even the smallest among us need understanding and the opportunity to express themselves. It is not up to us to judge the way that people react to life’s experiences but to allow them to honestly express the emotions filling their heads. Sometimes all we need do is acknowledge how beautiful and sensitive they are. We need to check on them as they progress through the stages of recovery. We must let them know that it is not just okay but quite normal to grieve or be angry. Mostly we need to love them.

Life is Shiny and Awesome

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

13165981_10206207146842968_828197429741817811_nI’ll be the first to admit that the end of May through the beginning of June is not my favorite time of year. In fact, I tend to dread this period, for it cycles through the dates when each of my parents died. I’d love to be able to tell everyone that there comes a moment when I actually forget the trauma of Memorial Day, 1957, when my father was killed in a car accident, but that would be a lie. For fifty-nine years I have felt the same pangs of loss that I experienced way back when I was only eight years old. The fact that my mother died quite suddenly and unexpectedly on the very day before I was to celebrate my retirement five years ago, only compounds my solemn mood as I watch the calendar head to those two terrible anniversaries.

Of course I have learned how to cope and move on. It’s what we all must do, but somehow the sorrow that I felt upon the deaths of the two people who gave me life lingers in a back corner of my mind. The scars of those events have healed but the calendar annually reminds me of the magnitude of my loss and I experience a tiny itch of sadness. The faded memories return and always among them is remembrance of how wonderfully understanding my Uncle William was when my father died. It was he who took the time to check on me and my brothers amidst the confusion and chaos of that day. It was he who showed us what real love was when we needed it most. Ironically decades later it would be his son, Paul, and his granddaughter, Jan, who would lift up our hearts with stirring tributes to our mother at her wake.

The lovely spirit of Uncle William lives on so beautifully within the hearts of Paul and Jan. They are both special souls who bring a pure and innocent kind of sincerity to every situation. Like Uncle William they are both wise and far stronger than people might suspect. They provide me with important links to my past, stalwarts for the present and promise for the future.

Jan has seen her own share of tragedy of late. Perhaps the most shocking event was the death of her cousin last summer. In what seemed a horrible replay of my father’s death, Jan’s cousin was killed while on vacation in a freak motorcycle accident. He was young, full of life and Jan’s special confidante. He had a family that loved him and so much more that he needed to do. This wasn’t supposed to happen and yet it did, leaving Jan bereft beyond measure.

Jan and her family have struggled for months to deal with the emotions that have stalked them. In an almost unbelievable turn of events her mother’s father died within weeks of her cousin’s passing. Because she is such a loving person, Jan’s grief has been almost unbearable to watch. Somehow she has managed to keep herself together because she had a very specific goal. She was in the midst of earning a Masters Degree in Communications at the University of Houston. The demands of her coursework was unforgiving. She had to keep studying, researching, writing papers and defending theses. Somehow it was in the work that her healing process began.

I suspect that Jan still wishes that she might have one more conversation with her departed loved ones but she also knows that they would have insisted that she continue to move forward, and so she did. She graduated in early May with her degree and a host of honors. Somehow I saw in her the image and spirit of my Uncle William. He ever so quietly and humbly lived a most remarkable life. He was not as learned as Jan but he brought so much to every single interaction, even with strangers. He delivered mail in the same neighborhood for years and made a point to know the people on his route and to treat them with dignity and respect. He did odd jobs here and there so that he might provide his family with special treats. He always carried fifty cent pieces to give to us children and he often insisted that we have ice cream to celebrate even an ordinary day.

Jan is so much like him. She lights up a room with her generous spirit. My mother adored her and would have been touched beyond imagination to hear Jan’s praises. Jan is bound for a wonderful life just as my mom always said she would be.

On the occasion of her graduation Jan shared what she thought to be “wise nuggets” that demonstrate the depth of her character. “It’s what I’ve lost that makes me so incredibly thankful for what I have. It’s what I haven’t achieved that pushes me to achieve more. And it’s what I wait for that makes me excited for the future. I may be a dreamer, but I can guarantee that I will do anything in my power to achieve it, whatever it may be. Life is confusing and messy. You hit a few bumps and that frustrates you. Then, you see this light, and it’s awesome and shiny (because you life shiny stuff). What appears from the light? See, that’s the beauty part of life, you take the good with the bad until you reach that shiny light to find out what is there. Take the good with the bad and hold on to those you love.”

I imagine my mother, my Uncle William and all of the other folks who have always loved Jan are feeling rather proud of her right now. I know I am. I can’t wait to see which one of those six pending job offers she ultimately lands and where her journey will take her. One thing that I know for sure is that she will be not just fine, but remarkable.

Congratulations, Jan! We love you with all of our hearts. You bring us joy with your presence. You have a huge fan club and we plan to hold on to you with all of our might. You are truly shiny and awesome.