Thinking of Julia and What Might Have Been

High school graduation beckons again. We alumni tend to reflect on our own commencement, back when we still claimed loads of energy and a million tomorrows. We remember friends, too, and what might have been.

Julia moved to my hometown when we were in middle school. She came from Norfolk, Va. She accused us of butchering the name with our deeply Southern twang.

Julia's family confused me. Their habits at home were nothing like the way my family did things. I witnessed raw arguments that made me squirm. Yet, they seemed to recover, laughing and joking in unspoken forgiveness.

Julia drew like a professional artist. There was an edge to her sketches that reflected an ability to chew on reality and spit it out in such a way that something beautiful remained. She read voraciously. She listened to lots of Rod Stewart.

To be on her good side was to have a champion for your every cause. To be on her bad side was to invite the devil to a dueling match. No one could defend a point better than Julia. Whenever she wore the perfectly tailored wool suit sewn by her mother, Julia embodied the living potential of a top-notch lawyer. If you didn't love her, you feared her completely.

She appeared destined for the Supreme Court. She applied herself to her studies and to having a great time. Simply being around Julia made you feel as if you could soak up some of the excess and use it for your own pursuits.

That's why what happened to her leaves me confounded. Her tragedy makes me want to challenge these masses of youth to go in earnest - be determined to make the most of what they've got, no matter what.

During and after high school, Julia waited tables at a steakhouse. She soon landed the position of manager. She attended college classes as she could afford them. In a Mardi Gras parade, she rode with coworkers, tossing beads from a float. Then, with the kind of surreal misfortune that defies logic, Julia fell from the back of a huge plastic cow as the procession advanced. She struck her head on the asphalt and suffered a debilitating concussion.

In the years following, Julia tried to prevail over her disability. Seizures and Phenobarbital prevented her from driving. The epilepsy from her head injury interfered with her freedom and independence.

The one time I saw her after the accident, she seemed driven as ever. But, her heavy reliance on others to help her had dulled her spark. She seemed tired and scattered, unsure of what to do with herself.

I can't remember who told me that Julia had taken her own life. I was a junior in college, thinking of my own future. I do remember the shock and overwhelming sense of confusion as to how this could happen to one of the most capable women I knew. Why had someone who offered so much to this crazy world been dealt such a losing hand?

Life is like that, full of inexplicable complications and obstacles. What happened to Julia could have happened to anyone. It's a lesson that if learned early can make the difference between spending your days chasing lackluster opportunities or listening to that voice that urges you to thrive and to push the limits of your comfort zone.

No one can speak for Julia. That voice was silenced more than 20 years ago. But the sound of hope resonates more loudly this time of year than any other. That is when our graduates speak of the future and the future answers not with a promise of success, but with an open door to those beautiful and challenging tomorrows.