who you are. I mean, you can dye your hair and change your clothes, but you can never really get rid of the person inside.” Rachel Bearsley agrees. “It’s not that you aren’t changing when you grow up. Obviously we’re all different than we were in the first grade. We’re just discovering more of ourselves as we get older.”
Quite reflective for a sixteen-year-old
, I think to myself.
We talk about the characters from the book for a while. Several students remark that no one is able to really move from one social sphere to another. None of the characters are able to change their identity.
“So what about us? What about Fitzgerald? What does he think?”
The conversation is interesting. The class has all sorts of different opinions and of course some students immediately bring up extremes. What about a prisoner who murdered someone when they were young? Have they changed after twenty-five years of being in jail? Can they shake the cloak of a murderer? Eventually we get back to us, everyday normal students. Can we change? Do people ever change?
Driving home from school, I think about Gatsby, Tom, Daisy, my students, and me. Can I reinvent myself? Before Josh died, I was the follower. He made all the decisions. He planned vacations, picked out paint colors, made plans for the weekend, figured out what we were having for dinner. He drove. He said yes or no to big purchases. He packed the car. He disciplined the dogs. I joked that when we built our dream house, he would plan the entire house. Blueprints to doorknobs, he would pick out everything and I would like whatever he picked out. He was the pack leader. But now he’s gone and I have the dogs and the baby and the house and the bank accounts and now I have to drive the car. Can I successfully reinvent myself to be the pack leader or will I just bumble around unsuccessfully?
It’s safe to say that none of us will be the same now that we have lived through the death of Josh. Right now I firmly believe I will never be as happy as I was. I will never exude that carefree smile I see on my face in my wedding pictures. Life will never look as bright, not simply because he’s not here, but also because I now know that things aren’t always fair in the world. But will I change? Will any of us change? Four months later, after vowing to live life differently, I wonder how much staying power those grief-stricken resolutions have. In the days following the funeral, Chris told Ashley that it was his job to make sure that the baby and I are always taken care of. But he’s back in Denver hunting elk and sometimes forgets to return myphone calls. Deedee said she was finally going to start on the much-needed renovations of her house—Josh had always wanted her to fix it up. Months later she hasn’t mentioned it again. I said I would never take a moment for granted. I would never get annoyed with stupid things like traffic or waiting in long lines at the post office, but I have gone back on those promises over and over. I said I would never reject an invitation to celebrate something, but months later I am already complaining about upcoming weddings and showers. So have we changed? Can I still change?
One of the few times I started crying uncontrollably in public was when I was at the checkout at Home Depot. I had to order carpeting for my bedroom and Mike, the carpet guy, had just asked me all these questions about my carpeting. What type of carpet pad did I want? Did I want the single layer or the water-resistant? Did I want the Stainmaster finish? Was I going to carpet the closet? Did I want a silver or gold runner? What day did I want it installed? Every time Mike looked up for an answer, my voice got shakier and shakier. “I don’t know!” I wanted to scream. “I don’t know! My husband knows! My husband is supposed to be here right now! Stop asking me! I don’t know!” By the time I got to the checkout counter, I was sobbing.
Can I do this? No, says Mike the
Quite reflective for a sixteen-year-old
, I think to myself.
We talk about the characters from the book for a while. Several students remark that no one is able to really move from one social sphere to another. None of the characters are able to change their identity.
“So what about us? What about Fitzgerald? What does he think?”
The conversation is interesting. The class has all sorts of different opinions and of course some students immediately bring up extremes. What about a prisoner who murdered someone when they were young? Have they changed after twenty-five years of being in jail? Can they shake the cloak of a murderer? Eventually we get back to us, everyday normal students. Can we change? Do people ever change?
Driving home from school, I think about Gatsby, Tom, Daisy, my students, and me. Can I reinvent myself? Before Josh died, I was the follower. He made all the decisions. He planned vacations, picked out paint colors, made plans for the weekend, figured out what we were having for dinner. He drove. He said yes or no to big purchases. He packed the car. He disciplined the dogs. I joked that when we built our dream house, he would plan the entire house. Blueprints to doorknobs, he would pick out everything and I would like whatever he picked out. He was the pack leader. But now he’s gone and I have the dogs and the baby and the house and the bank accounts and now I have to drive the car. Can I successfully reinvent myself to be the pack leader or will I just bumble around unsuccessfully?
It’s safe to say that none of us will be the same now that we have lived through the death of Josh. Right now I firmly believe I will never be as happy as I was. I will never exude that carefree smile I see on my face in my wedding pictures. Life will never look as bright, not simply because he’s not here, but also because I now know that things aren’t always fair in the world. But will I change? Will any of us change? Four months later, after vowing to live life differently, I wonder how much staying power those grief-stricken resolutions have. In the days following the funeral, Chris told Ashley that it was his job to make sure that the baby and I are always taken care of. But he’s back in Denver hunting elk and sometimes forgets to return myphone calls. Deedee said she was finally going to start on the much-needed renovations of her house—Josh had always wanted her to fix it up. Months later she hasn’t mentioned it again. I said I would never take a moment for granted. I would never get annoyed with stupid things like traffic or waiting in long lines at the post office, but I have gone back on those promises over and over. I said I would never reject an invitation to celebrate something, but months later I am already complaining about upcoming weddings and showers. So have we changed? Can I still change?
One of the few times I started crying uncontrollably in public was when I was at the checkout at Home Depot. I had to order carpeting for my bedroom and Mike, the carpet guy, had just asked me all these questions about my carpeting. What type of carpet pad did I want? Did I want the single layer or the water-resistant? Did I want the Stainmaster finish? Was I going to carpet the closet? Did I want a silver or gold runner? What day did I want it installed? Every time Mike looked up for an answer, my voice got shakier and shakier. “I don’t know!” I wanted to scream. “I don’t know! My husband knows! My husband is supposed to be here right now! Stop asking me! I don’t know!” By the time I got to the checkout counter, I was sobbing.
Can I do this? No, says Mike the
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