Learning from loss: Reflections on Miles, McConville tragedies

Today marks one year to the day since my outlook on life changed forever. Jan. 10, 1999 awoke a clear, crisp winter's day with a bite in the wind and a buzz on campus from the Nude Olympics two days before. The jovial atmosphere of the day quickly vanished for my roommates and me, however, when we left a Wu Hall brunch to discover that the seventh member of our suite, Sean Miles '01, had died in a car accident in his home state of Montana. The remainder of the day was a wash of tears as we retreated into our room surrounded by close friends to grieve in our own manner.

In the intervening year, I often reflected on Sean's death and what it meant to me. While it is true that I have lived through the passing of grandparents and others from older generations, Sean was the first of my friends to move on. This proximity affected me deeply. By losing someone my own age, a sense of vulnerability refreshed itself in my mind. For most people, the death of anyone is a tragedy; when a person is plucked from the Earth in the prime of life, the sense of unfulfilled promise makes the loss that much greater.

I did not know Mary McConville '00, but I understand what her friends are going through right now in their own time of tragedy. Though life after Sean's death was difficult for me, I can say that I have come to terms with the loss and have grown because of it. In a sense it is terrible to admit that I benefited from something so tragic, but I like to think that the death of a friend was not a complete loss.

With the fiery invincibility of the young nonetheless pumping through my veins, the past year of reflection instilled in me an increased appreciation of everyday life in two areas. I can best express my outlook through quotations.

"Some of it's magic, some of it's tragic, but I led a good life all the way." In his own way, Jimmy Buffett coaxes us to stop and smell the roses and appreciate life for what it is. Upon reflecting on my days at Princeton, I discovered that I spent too many of them robotically completing the banal tasks of everyday life. I piled up enough "If I can only get past this week" and "After I'm done with my work I'll be able to. . ." promises to pass three semesters and hardly noticed them go by.

I was focused so intently upon the future – with papers to plan, exams to prepare for and jobs to find – that I was not enjoying the present. It took the tragic to slow me down enough to notice the magic, but I am thankful for it.

"Make a big difference; change the world." Sean's father incited us to do just this when we went to Montana for the funeral, and he was serious. One of the questions that crossed my mind at the time was, "Why Sean? Why not me?" I guess I'm still here to try to answer Mr. Miles's entreaty.

Take from the loss of loved ones what you can. For me, it was a more conscious outlook on life. Any time I begin to lose focus, I have Sean to screw my head on right and point me in the right direction. If I can look back and say that not only did I lead a good life, but that the world is a better place than when I entered it, Sean will not have died in vain. Ryan Martin, a guest columnist from Portland, Maine, is a computer science major and a 'Prince' associate photography editor and sports senior writer. He can be reached at rlmartin@princeton.edu.