A Eulogy for Summer

Summer Garcia wouldn’t want me to do this.  She’d want everyone to get on with their lives and enjoy what time they have.  She’d think this was sentimental, a vestige of my unsubstantiated beliefs in God, a duty I felt because of my future vocation.  She’d tell me not to outwardly, and then tell me she appreciated the thought when no one was looking.  In truth, this tribute is neither because of duty, nor because of my faith in God.  This is because Summer is probably the most unique young woman I’ve ever known, and the world is a sadder place without her.  The void she left is probably one you won’t notice–your ignorance of her existence is the reason why.  If you do know her, you know these few feeble words won’t do justice to her life.  Everyone who knew her, at least so far as I can tell, was effected by her.  It was impossible to know Summer without being changed somehow.

Summer was 20 years old, and probably the most together 20 year old I’ve ever had the privilege to converse with.  You might find it odd that I’d write a eulogy for someone I never met face-to-face, but if you ever talked with Summer or read her diary, you’ll know exactly what I mean when I say this.  In my life, I’ve known plenty of self-righteous, know-it-all high school grads.  That was my first impression of Summer, who was then 18.  The first entry I read in her diary was a diatribe on how the Catholic church should just give it up already.  Being of my particular stripe (I’m studying to be a Baptist pastor), I was quick to remind Summer of the fact that Catholic church no longer represents the entire of Christendom, and that we Protestants rarely own them in the public sphere.  From our bantering back and forth, somehow a friendship was kindled.  I appreciated Summer’s straightforwardness and rational mind.  She said she appreciated my devotion and authenticity.  Really, as Summer wrote once in her diary, it’s quite a miracle that we became friends at all.  Two people with as widely divergent viewpoints as ours rarely enjoy one another’s time.  But that wasn’t the case with Summer.  She made an effort in my life to keep me accountable to the dictates of my faith.  I corrected her where she overgeneralized about the faith.  Somehow, it worked.  Summer invested in my life, and I in hers as best I could.

There were many nights where we lamented our fate as single people looking for that special someone.  I found out later that she actually tried to hook me up with someone in the OD community.  Perhaps I might have caught on if I wasn’t so dense.  We debated often about the necessity of faith and the church.  We talked often of politics.  I am a greatly cynical about all politicians and trust none of them.  Summer still had faith in the system, so far as faith goes in these trying times.  It will never be said of Summer that she held a view without knowing why she held it.  Scanning any of her politically based writings, you will soon see that she meticulously noted all her sources, pleading with her readers to do the research.  I can’t tell you how much I admire that sentiment.  As much as I agree with it as an educator, I rarely took the time in my OD to note where my sources came from.  It was Summer’s desire to see this election come, and her hope was that John Kerry would become the next president.  To tell you the truth, I would trade both major party candidates this year to have Summer back ranting away.  I’ve had more good come into my life as a result of her encouragement and challenge than those pitiful men will ever do in their entire political career.  Mr. Kerry; Mr. Bush-  I know you’ll never read this, but if you had taken 10 minutes to read some of Summer’s writings and really interact with them, you’d be better men today.  As it is now, you probably never will and that’s to your detriment–you’re both morally repugnant and could use a little bit of her wisdom, common sense, and dignity.

I remember well the night when she came online and told me she thought she had cancer and was afraid she might be dying.  It was before her first battery of tests, and what was ailing her was still largely unknown.  She was afraid, understandably.  Somehow, she knew that something was wrong. I tried to convince her it was nothing, but she knew better.  Things had just started looking up for Summer.  Her job as a waitress in a restaurant had brought her a promotion due to her hard work and perseverance, and she was saving for her future–college and travel.  She was looking forward to pursuing her dream as a journalist–where she could put her detective skills and her desire to inform to good use.  On the night before her tests, she confided in me the melancholy she felt at the fear that none of those dreams would come to fruition.  Again, I tried to comfort her to no avail.  She knew it was coming, even then.

But Summer didn’t give up.  If you read her diary, though she constantly worried about being a coward in the face of her death, her entries reflect quite the opposite perspective.  Many of her elders would do well to face death with such courage.  She decided that she wanted her body to be donated to scientific research, a selfless gesture that she hoped would keep someone else from her fate.  Only a foul-up in a far away research lab that put a temporary ban on accepting new research subjects kept that wish from becoming a reality. After that possibility was extinguished, she resigned herself to leaving this world on her terms, with the littlest amount of fanfare possible and the smallest amount of pain and inconvenience on her family.  She was constantly concerned for her mother and uncle, in addition to her great love, Dana.  She strove as best she could to keep their lives as much in tact as she could, despite their desire to be with her.  Her desire to keep them as pain-free as possible was remarkable.  I hope that at some point her family will be able to come back to her diary and marvel as I have at the depth of her insight and the volume of her courage.  It is truly an inspiration.

Those of us who knew Summer will never be the same.  She made an impact on all of us.  I’m certain that the impact wasn’t the same on any of us, but it will no doubt be equally profound.  She will be missed by all who appreciated her keen intellect, her sharp wit and her deep passion for life and the people she cared about.

On a personal note, I mourn for fear that I am right about the universe and about it’s maker.  Summer disagreed with me on that point, and though I did my best, I knew better than to try to persuade her with emotional pleas– it didn’t suit her.  Summer, if you were right about the universe, it doesn’t make any difference now–you’ll become part of the desert you loved so much.  If you were wrong, it makes your fate more lamentable, that you didn’t have the opportunity to consider it more in your short life.  I mourn for you either way, and hope against hope that I will see you in person someday.  Heaven would surely be a sorrier

place without your light.  I loved you better than you knew Summer, and cared for you more than you imagined, as I am sure you did for me.  Thank you for being a friend, for encouraging me to chase after that which I loved, and to grab life and live it.  I will surely never forget you.  Ciao, Summer.