Posted on April 17, 2008
This time last year, I was running around like a crazy woman deciding what classes to take, finding a lease to sign, and trying not to forget to send my dad a birthday card. Everyday life, which included trivial drama, meaningless fights with friends, and wondering how I was going to make it through finals week were my main priorities. My safety at school wasn’t even on my radar of list of worries; rather what bus to catch to make it to ISAT on time.
And this semester isn’t much different: picking classes for my last fall semester at JMU, summer internship applications and inconsequential gossip once again consumed my time. Yet as the anniversary of one of the most saddening events to occur in our lives passed this Wednesday, everything started to slow down.
The JMU campus and community became just as somber and grief-stricken as it was this time last year. Despite the distance between our college campuses, we felt the loss of loved ones and were faced to answer the question: are we truly safe? After the shootings, JMU professors began to lock doors, emergency sirens and text messaging systems were put in place, and grief became a universal language. During large lecture classes, I found myself mentally mapping escape routes for just-in-case scenarios.
The same feelings of grief and frustrations still encircle April 16, 2007 when 32 Virginia Tech students and faculty were shot dead and 23 were injured. Virginia Gov. Tim Kaine offered an $11 million settlement to 21 families who were prepared to take legal action because of the felt carelessness of the university.
Jerzy Nowak, a professor at Virginia Tech whose wife and professor, Jocelyn Couture-Nowak, was killed while teaching a French class, accepted the settlement. “Some people,” he stated in an article for the Canadian Press, “may choose to continue [the legal fight], but in our case, I’m just being practical.” He goes on saying, “The reality is that one would have to hire lawyers and continue fighting,” making this whole process longer and more painful for the families.
Daniel Couture, Jocelyn Couture-Nowak’s younger brother, finds the settlement arbitrary and ineffective. Couture prepared a brief against the settlement, which focused on the lack of change in security he feels the university has made since last April.
Evident in Couture’s efforts, the feelings of frustration and sorrow from the massacre is far from gone.
Yet Nowak, now a widower and single parent who is raising his 13-year-old daughter alone, says it best: “Having more money doesn’t solve all problems.” Nowak’s attitude is both understandable and admirable. Instead of putting more money into painful court cases, he is attempting to move on with his life. But the anguish and frustration in Couture’s voice is just as relatable.
This week will be different than the rest. Most of us will hopefully step outside of ourselves and put silly fights or certain projects on hold and in perspective. After all, what’s important in life? Is it really about fighting with your roommate over dirty dishes or spending time angry at a friend?
Maybe next week, when life returns to normal and we put those sad feelings to the side, those trivial aspects of life can regain their superficial importance. But at least for this week try and enjoy the life you live and keep in mind all of the small kind things we can do for each other, anything from holding the door open for someone to remembering to send your dad a birthday card.
Sarah Delia is a English and art history major.
This is without a doubt the most troublesome article I have ever had to write. How do I share with you a story of two people you may only know when their names are connected to the worst shooting in our country’s history?
I can’t do that. However, I can share with you some lessons I have been able to take from this past year in hopes that you understand another side of the story.
On April 16, 2007, I lost two friends, Reema Samaha and Erin Peterson. They were my age and my classmates. They were the ones I laughed with and laughed at. The girls I danced with, went on adventures with and made music videos with; but for reasons that I’ll never fully grasp their lives ended when mine got to go on.
Loss hurts. Believe me, it is a pain indescribable through words and once you’ve lost a loved one it’s impossible to go back to the way things used to be.
As life moves on, pain will lessen, tears will dry and time will keep moving on. When you’re ready to do so the best thing you can ever do for yourself and for those who have passed is to “keep on dancing!”
Dance to your beat, dance to your friend’s beat, dance to that professor’s beat you can’t stand. Just dance my friends. Whether it’s actual dancing or metaphorical, just enjoy your dance.
Think to yourself, what would you do if you had one year left to live? You wouldn’t walk around dragging your feet, you would want to climb mountains, fly helicopters and eat the world’s largest bowl of ice cream! So why wait until it’s too late?
Go out there and try things you’ve never done before. Take a road trip to Miami, parasail with your grandma or finally go out and accomplish that one big thing you’ve had the urge to do for as long as you can remember.
Keep in mind it is not only the big spectacles but also the small things as well that can be just as important. Have a conversation with the lunch ladies, tell that special someone how you truly feel, apologize for stealing your sister’s Game Boy. Have a picnic.
Say your “please’s” and “thank you’s,” hold that door open (even if that person is an awkward distance away and you don’t know to keep walking or hold it open) and be nice.
Do one thing every day that scares you.
Baz Luhrmann says it better than I can, “Don’t worry about the future, or worry that know worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubble gum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind, the kind that blindside you at 4 p.m. on some idle Tuesday” — or in my case an idle Monday.
Don’t let your troubles hold you down, go out there and make this world a better place.
I’m not trying to tell you what to do or how to live, I’m just telling you what I’ve learned. This isn’t a political message or sermon, these are just my thoughts — take them for what they are worth.
There is forever going to be an unfixable hole in my heart, not a day of my life is going to pass where I don’t think of the opportunities my friends will never get, but I cannot sit around and watch those opportunities pass me by.
Sean Youngberg is a sophomore SMAD major.
