In loving memory

With the recent passing of two cherished Duke students, Kaila Brown and Alexander Rickabaugh, and the birthday of my dear friend and beloved Semester at Sea shipmate Casey Shulman, who passed away in 2012, this past week has been one of heartfelt loss mixed with bittersweet memories. Realizing that how much good someone brings to the world or how loved someone is does not tie them any tighter to life is devastating to grasp, particularly at an age when we feel invincible— like life is just getting started. My heart goes out to all those struggling with loss. I do not have much to offer, but I’d like to share what I do— the 3 life truths Casey Shulman instilled in me.

Life is not a race track. It is more of a museum with some incredibly awe-inspiring exhibits. The point is not the speed with which we can pass through each display, nor the precision with which we can commit each display’s details to memory. The point is to pause thoughtfully, take in the finer details of each masterpiece and explore the emotions it pulls out of us. The extent to which we open ourselves to all that our experiences have to offer is what holds value. Often times we are so set on getting where we are going that we forget to live the age that we are. Some of my favorite memories are from nights when I paused a moment to think to myself, “tonight I get to be 22.” It reminds me of how Casey’s way of being always seemed to have something to celebrate, no matter how simple. It also switches off my autopilot and reminds me that so much relies on our ability to be present in the moment, as that is the only moment in which we can feel what it actually means to be alive—feel our heart beating, feel the swell of our lungs with each breath, feel the emotions that give our experiences meaning.

Love harder. We often fear loving things too much because it makes us vulnerable and open to getting hurt. But fighting this fear and doing it anyway is far better than the regret that comes with realizing we did not love someone or something hard enough while we had the chance. Casey’s memorial was so beautiful because I got to hear what an impact she had made on others’ lives and think about how she had impacted my own. It was also heartbreaking because I realized how much magic there was inside this one person—becoming so evident with story after story— and it made me bitterly question why it is so easy to take the simple presence of a friend for granted. These sentiments can best be expressed through two lines in a poem I later wrote, “Because hurt is nothing more than the measure of how much something meant to you,/ Because mourning is only a representation of how well we attached ourselves to the life we are living.” Khalil Gibran exposes this same beauty in certain kinds of sadness by urging, “When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.” Losing a loved one brings great sadness, but trying my best to be thankful to have known Casey in the first place and to have had her in my life does offer me some comfort. I urge others who are hurting right now to think of the moments they shared with those who have passed away in our Duke community and cherish what gifts these memories are. We should never be afraid to give each other permission to celebrate the things we loved about those no longer with us.

Finality does not exist. Once we have lived something, it is written in the stars. Experiences are forever. We will always have shared that moment, that memory together— and it is in this way I believe “we are infinite." I think some people make a mistake in believing the way to be remembered is by having one’s name in a history book or engraved into the side of a building. Why is it so important for the memory of a name to be passed down, when beliefs and feelings are what make an impact? When one lives his or her life in a way that is so meaningful that it ripples into others who then carry that ripple forward and forward into time— that’s the way to be remembered. I never really knew my grandfather, but I know he is to my mom what my mom is to me. I know him in my own way because the values I carry in me were passed down from him. Casey certainly had this same impact on those around her. “Thankful” was Casey’s word. She wrote it on a piece of paper to represent what SAS meant to her, taped it to the mirror in her room, and lived it every day. And even though we no longer have her here to beam that belief like sunshine out of her smile, the word continues to hold such deep meaning for us, and that will inevitably be passed on. Through her, I have come to realize the surest way to find joy in life is to believe that each moment is one that can bring magic. This commitment to thankfulness as a discipline did not leave with Casey—it has remained with all the people she touched. Long after we are all here to talk about it, that ripple of hers will continue. I have no doubt the ripples of Kaila and Alexander will do the same.

Cara Peterson is a Trinity senior. Her column runs every other Thursday. Follow her tumblr http://thetwenty-something.tumblr.com.