Stanford, like the rest of the world, is a bubble—and you’re inside. It’s easy to get caught up in it. Balancing work, classes, projects, sports or extra curriculars, and a social life; it’s easy to forget about everything going on outside.
During school I talked to my parents or brothers maybe twice a month at most. And that’s pushing it. I talked even less to my grandparents, which seemed silly since, unlike my brothers and parents, who were on the other side of the country, my grandparents lived forty-five minutes away in Santa Cruz.
One weekend morning, during my freshman year, I was out for breakfast when my phone rang. It was my grandfather’s birthday. I planned on calling him after getting back to the dorm to wish him a happy birthday and talk. The phone’s display read ‘Mom’.
“Hi mom!” I exclaimed. It had been some time since we spoke. My enthusiasm was not returned on the other end.
“Jordan,” sniffles emerged from the ear-piece, “Grampy died this morning.”
My heart dropped.
“You’re joking, right Mom?” I said, hoping this was just a twisted prank. If I didn’t believe it happened then maybe it hadn’t.
“Jord, I wouldn’t joke about something like this. He passed early this morning.” I fought to hold back tears at the restaurant while my Mom offered her ear if I ever needed it and made sure I was okay. We said goodbye and made a point to say “I love you.” The food didn’t taste as great after that.
My grandfather had struggled with heart complications for a while, but he, in his resolve and hilariously loving-yet-often-crotchety-‘grumpy-old-men’ attitude made it seem like he would be around forever.
That was the first of many instances during college where I realized I had taken something for granted. A piece of my life I assumed would be there forever was suddenly gone—forever. I had grown comfortable within a set of circumstances and been desensitized, failing to appreciate what I had or recognize that others may not have such a set of circumstances. Sometimes it takes a seriously heavy event to burst that comfortable bubble and make you have a humbling realization.
It is often through pain, discomfort, and fear that we learn the most about ourselves and each other.
The adage, “what doesn’t kill me…makes me stronger” comes to mind. This is true, so long as we take a lesson away from our experience, especially a negative one.
I decided to make an earnest effort to keep in touch with my family more. Sure, there were times in the next three years when we didn’t talk often, but I always made sure to let them know I loved them.
With graduation approaching my Stanford experience was almost over. I didn’t tell my family, but I took the opportunity to pay homage to my grandfather in the ‘In Memoriam’ section of my department’s graduation program. Since I never got the chance to say goodbye to him, it just seemed fitting that I would honor him as I departed from one stage of my life and moved onto another.
Graduation arrived. My brothers, parents, fiancée, aunts, uncles, and grandmother were there. And as great as graduating was; as great as seeing everyone was; the greatest part of the whole weekend was seeing my grandmother’s face and hearing the gratitude in her voice when she discovered what I had done for Grampy Jim and told me how proud he would have been of me.
Not everybody has the chance to grow up knowing their grandparents. Not everybody has the chance to go to college. I guess the moral of the story is to be aware of what you have and what others may not have; to be grateful for what you have and appreciate it, especially while you still have it. Don’t let yourself too easily get swept up in the tide of life and/or work to take for granted those connections, relationships, people, and experiences close to you. As stressful as our bubbles may be, when it feels like things start to eat away at you, just take a deep breath and remember that all this bulls**t isn’t really what matters in life.