Amanda van Scoyoc

It has been a couple of crazy weeks, but I’m into graduate schools and now I just need to decide what I am going to study and where I am going to spend the next 5-8 years of my life. I have 5 weeks left to make this decision. All day every day I ask myself if I am meant to be a clinical psychologist, social work researcher, or anthropologist. I have options, lots of options, more options than my brain can handle thinking about. Indecisiveness and a broad range of interests has brought me to this point.

These past three weeks I have been to Pittsburgh, DC, Miami, Ft. Lauderdale, and North Carolina. I am about to head up to DC, then to Philadelphia, then to Michigan, then back to DC, then North Carolina, then on to Oregon. It is a busy life that I will be glad to give up once the decision is made.

Applying and deciding has been an emotional journey. I have enjoyed lots of small moments amid interview preparation and performance. I have talked to many brilliant researchers who have listened to me. I have looked at myself in the mirror suited up and spiffy and hardly recognized myself. I’ve listened to myself speak on interviews and been surprised by how eager I am to move forward into graduate school. I’ve gotten so excited over graduate school that I can’t sleep and so nervous that I can’t get out of bed in the morning. I have this lingering feeling that maybe they made a mistake admitting me. They read the essay wrong, didn’t realize how little I really know. Does Michigan realize that I have never taken an Anthropology course?

But in the midst of all of this, I feel incredibly grounded. Going to college I was alone. Now there are two of us making this decision, and we will start another home together. Eli will help with the dinners when I’m too tired. He’ll be there to be more important than anything and everything else. Amid the stress of decision-making I have gone with my mom to see my grandmother’s cousin to hear all of her stories of life during the depression. I have spent hours driving Eli nuts with all of my indecisiveness. I have caught up with my mom’s childhood friend and heard that, “Oh, everyone in school knew of Stu Van Scoyoc.” And I have floated around a butterfly house with Erin, Annabel, Hanna, and Isaac. I can’t complain.

Gearing up for my final clinical psychology interview.

My mom interviewing Mary Etna (my grandmother's cousin who is 96 and lovely.)

Mary Etna after I opened the window blinds.

My mom and her childhood friend, Michelle.

Hanna, Erin, Annabel, and a beautiful butterfly at the Museum of Life and Science.

Annabel and some mating butterflies. (Rusty, this one is for you.)

At my parent’s house in Northern Virginia and this is the most snow that I’ve ever seen. Ana and I went sledding yesterday evening and she commented that it looks like Narnia, and it does. We were the only people out of the house on our road. We waded thigh high through the snow and used sleds to protect ourselves from falling snow blobs. The strangest thing we saw was a squirrel jump down from a tree to the ground and immediately sink. It then swam-hopped to a nearby tree looking quite surprised and upset with the world.

I am supposed to drive tomorrow morning to Pittsburgh for an interview. I’ll try to make it, but damn it still looks like Narnia out there.

road outside of my parent's house

It’s a new year, a new decade, and it is six months since Darius died. It is a day when we are supposed to look forward, make resolutions, and instead I find myself looking backwards. Six months since, and I feel that I am living a different life than I was before.

Darius, your death was life affirming. It is important that you know this. I believe that you would want to know that we are not wallowing in our loss, but are cherishing all that is left for us in this life. I believe your death is why Eli and I ended up getting engaged much earlier than I expected we would. After your death, there was a sense of emergency and desperation. Much of life became unimportant. I was consumed knowing that people could pass immediately and be gone. Every time Eli annoyed me, I heard the replay of his voice shaking on the phone in the moment he told me. Instead of frustration, I would hear those words “Amanda, Darius killed himself,” and then hold onto him and breathe him in. Eli kept your picture on his phone so he would see you every time he checked the time or picked up a phone call. We didn’t talk about you all that much, but you were everywhere.

You changed the way we live our lives. I am no longer willing to live a life unexamined. I want to be sure that every year, month, and day of my life, that I am taking in all that is good. Since your death, so much has happened. We made this apartment slowly into our home, got engaged, I gained a niece, and Eli became an uncle for the first time, I changed my employment, and started spending more time with my family. I applied to graduate school programs with the goal of making changes in the lives of impoverished youth. I’ve seen too much to not need to make changes now, immediately, with a sudden sense of urgency.

The other day, I noticed that Eli changed the picture on his phone to a photograph of me from our engagement photo shoot. When I asked him about it, he said that it was time and it would be what you wanted. We made it through making breakfast and running errands today before voicing that we were both thinking about this six month mark. We had lots of wine with dinner tonight.

Thinking forward to this next decade, I just hope that we continue to both live with the urgency and meaning you brought to life. I want to make changes, forge ahead, love harder, and take time to appreciate the beauty in every day.

A few photographs from Isaac’s first birthday party last week.

Introducing a slightly more meaty and certainly more active Annabel.

I’m not certain about too many things in life, but I’m sure of this and it is wonderful.

Eli and Sparrow at the kitchen table.

Eli spinning.

On Glen Lake in Michigan. The morning before he proposed.

Inside a box in the back of my closet resides a rock. It it black and cold and has marks like petroglyphs scratched into the surface. It was given to me six years ago by a woman named Ulla, on the island of Langeland, in Denmark.

I went to her because she could heal me. It was my third month abroad in Scotland. The nights stretched past day and the wet cold would not subside. She was a piece of home. She was my old babysitter, and she was mystical. She had foreseen her brother’s plane crash in an abstract painting and once was saved by a rock wedged under a brakeless car. She could tell my future by looking at my palm. Although I was skeptical, her certainty brought calm. The last day in Denmark she gave me the rock for protection. She said, “It will be there always” as she promised that the heavens believed in me.

Some objects outlast their people. Ulla is now in a nursing home and she forgets a little everyday. If I never came to her again, she would never remember enough to be sad. But I need to tell her I’m getting married. My fiance has to meet her. I look to the rock to remind me that it will outlast us all and that she believed and I believed. It helps me remember that as everything seems to change, some things stay the same.