Wish You Were Here:
Epilogue
by Picoult, JodiThe epilogue reflects on the protagonist’s journey of recovery and self-discovery three years after surviving Covid. Emphasizing the importance of living in the present, the narrator dismisses grand ambitions in favor of appreciating small victories—health, shelter, and loved ones. Now an art therapist with her own practice, she travels to the Galápagos alone, symbolizing closure and independence. The chapter underscores the fleeting nature of moments and the value of cherishing what one has, rather than yearning for what’s absent.
Arriving in Puerto Villamil, the protagonist observes the vibrant, tourist-filled town, contrasting it with her pandemic memories. She reconnects humorously with her friend Rodney, who supported her through her breakup with Finn and her mother’s death. The narrative touches on Finn’s new life with another woman, acknowledging the protagonist’s genuine wish for his happiness. Her solo trip represents a final chapter, a deliberate step toward personal resolution and growth after years of upheaval.
The protagonist checks into a boutique hotel, noting its dissimilarity to her dreams, and inquires about a woman named Elena, hinting at unresolved threads from her past. She reflects on her master’s thesis about memory’s unreliability, drawing parallels to Japan’s tsunami stones—monuments meant to preserve hard-earned wisdom across generations. Her art therapy practice has channeled this idea into creating “pandemic stones,” collaborative artworks by survivors to memorialize their collective trauma and lessons. One such stone stands in the MoMA, near her mother’s photograph, bridging personal and communal healing.
Exploring Isabela Island, the protagonist confronts discrepancies between her memories and reality, blending familiarity with newfound details. She visits the tortoise breeding ground, another site that diverges from her imagination, and jogs along the coast, savoring the ability to breathe freely—a stark contrast to her Covid experience. The epilogue closes with her embracing the present, acknowledging the past’s weight while stepping forward into a life shaped by resilience, art, and the quiet joy of survival.
FAQs
1. How does the narrator’s perspective on life change after recovering from Covid, and what specific examples does she provide to illustrate this shift?
Answer:
The narrator adopts a more present-focused, gratitude-centered perspective after her Covid recovery. She rejects traditional measures of success like bucket lists and benchmarks, instead valuing small daily wins like waking up, having shelter, and loved ones’ wellbeing. The text states: “You don’t need the things you don’t have. You only need what you’ve got.” This philosophy manifests in her career shift to art therapy, her breakup with Finn, and her solo trip to the Galápagos—all representing conscious choices aligned with her new values rather than societal expectations.2. What is the significance of the “pandemic stones” the narrator created with her art therapy patients, and how do they connect to the concept of tsunami stones mentioned later?
Answer:
The pandemic stones (10-foot tall monuments decorated with survivor art and messages) serve as collective memory markers for Covid trauma, similar to Japanese tsunami stones that warn future generations. Both represent attempts to preserve hard-won wisdom: the narrator notes it takes three generations to forget trauma, and these physical monuments combat that forgetting. The stones’ imagery (grayed-out stick figures, motivational mantras, medical symbols) visually encodes lessons about loss, resilience, and social solidarity that survivors want to transmit, just as tsunami stones geographically encode safety knowledge.3. Analyze the narrator’s return to the Galápagos as both a literal journey and a symbolic act. What contrasts does she notice between her imagined version and reality?
Answer:
Literally, the trip fulfills her postponed pre-pandemic plans, but symbolically, it represents closure and reconciliation with trauma. She notes stark contrasts: the real hotel “looks nothing like the hotel I dreamed,” and familiar landmarks like Abuela’s home don’t exist, revealing how memory distorts reality. Yet some elements (lava formations, beach curves) match her subconscious memories, showing how trauma embeds certain images. Her ability to breathe deeply where she once struggled symbolizes overcoming physical and psychological Covid impacts, making the journey a full-circle healing experience.4. How does the narrator’s professional work as an art therapist reflect her personal experiences with trauma and memory?
Answer:
Her art therapy practice directly applies lessons from her dual trauma—losing her mother and surviving Covid. Her thesis on memory reliability informs her approach: she helps patients externalize and process pandemic trauma through creative expression, just as she does by returning to the Galápagos. The MoMA-installed pandemic stone beneath her mother’s photo symbolically connects personal and professional healing. Her work validates that creating tangible artifacts (like art or monuments) can help survivors transform pain into preventative wisdom for others, addressing her own existential question: “what’s the point of living through something terrible if you cannot convey the lessons?”5. Evaluate the narrator’s statement that “you should live in the moment” is impossible. How does her journey demonstrate an alternative approach to finding meaning?
Answer:
The narrator argues we can’t truly live in the moment because time constantly progresses, but we can consciously shape our cumulative “tallied up” moments through intentional choices about relationships and values. Her journey models this: she leaves an unfulfilling relationship (Finn), pursues meaningful work (art therapy), and revisits trauma sites (Galápagos) not to dwell in the past but to integrate those experiences into ongoing growth. Her small daily appreciations (“Did I wake up?”) and creative legacy projects (pandemic stones) show meaning emerges from stringing together purposefully lived moments, not chasing ephemeral present-mindfulness.
Quotes
1. “Bucket lists aren’t important. Benchmarks aren’t important. Neither are goals. You take the wins in small ways: Did I wake up this morning? Do I have a roof over my head? Are the people I care about doing okay? You don’t need the things you don’t have. You only need what you’ve got, and the rest? It’s just gravy.”
This quote encapsulates the chapter’s central theme of finding meaning in simplicity and gratitude after surviving trauma. It reflects the narrator’s hard-won perspective shift post-Covid, rejecting societal pressures in favor of appreciating life’s fundamentals.
2. “Memories are the safeguards we use to keep from making the same mistakes.”
This profound statement comes as the narrator discusses her art therapy work creating pandemic monuments. It represents both her professional insight about collective trauma and her personal journey to memorialize loss while moving forward.
3. “I breathe deeply, thinking that last time I was here, I couldn’t breathe at all.”
This poignant contrast highlights the narrator’s full-circle moment returning to the Galápagos after her Covid ordeal. The physical act of breathing becomes a powerful metaphor for survival and rebirth.
4. “It’s the last chapter; it’s time for the book to end.”
This meta-commentary about closure appears as the narrator embarks on her solo trip. It signifies both her acceptance of life’s impermanence and her deliberate choice to conclude this phase of her personal narrative.