Loss is one of the universal truths of existing as a human being. We are all going to experience both sides of it someday. If you are dealing with that emptiness, know that this will pass. You will find your smile.
In the words of Alex Lickerman, "Sadness is on its own
timeline, and what sad people really want is permission to be sad without
worrying how their sadness is affecting others." I honestly do not know
where I am in that timeline. A few days ago I reached the third anniversary of
my sister's death from suicide-- an unfortunate personal best as far as
anniversaries go for me-- and I fell through a different web of emotions than I
had on previous anniversaries.
For some of us, death is a distant memory or a quiet echo from across cyberspace. It's an event that passes you by and embraces the sick or elderly. It's a glaring exit sign across a long room; its fluorescence brighter for those fighting sickness or mental illness, but still somewhere ahead. Sometimes someone you love will pass through that door a lot sooner than you expected. Then you discover that there is a special length of infinity saved for periods of time after death. The permanence of death itself squirms its way into your schedule. My itinerary has a saved space empty for the taking, waiting for my sister to walk into the room.
I remember exactly what I have done on every July 29th after
she died as if the day she left was the first of its kind. Maybe this will pass
after some unspecified number of years and July 29th will stop feeling like a
day created by Jenny. I want to be able to focus on the dash between the dates
on her headstone instead of the number I cannot change or return to because she
deserves remembrance in lieu of regret.
I have come a long way in that respect.
I didn't step into a
Waffle House for a year after she died because one of the last outfits I saw
her in was that uniform. I can eat at Waffle House now without seeing her at
every booth and in every apron. Her leather jacket no longer holds her shape
or scent, but I can wear it and remember how she gave it life. The craft aisle in the store splatters memories across my mind of every splash of color she gave her house. I only spent
sixteen years in my sissy's life and I'm slowly learning that that is okay, or that it
will be someday.
She loved weiner dogs. She adored glitter and fairies. She was a certified workout addict. She was way more artsy than I could ever be. She told the raunchiest jokes. She probably owned every Waffle House pin in existence. The thrift store was her second home and I'm honestly surprised they didn't know her by name there. She was a fan of heavy metal and rap. She was as blind as a bat and wrecked more cars than I can count. She was Jennifer Gayle Mayton. She is my sister.
Maybe I originally joined a sorority to carve out a similar bond to the one I miss so much, but that isn't how it works. I can never replace who I lost, but the sisters I share through our creed have forged a new kind of love in my heart. I am thankful for every person that has touched my life, whether they hung up their coat and stayed for a spell or ran out into the night never to be heard from again. My dear friends, male or female, have helped me become the person I am today. My entire way of viewing the world is veiled by my past, but my reflection in the mirror is now a hint towards my future instead of a flimsy comparison to someone I never was.
If you have dealt with or are currently dealing with losing a loved one through death or circumstance, I want you to know that you are going to be alright even if it takes a lifetime. If you are dealing with the thought of losing yourself, please approach those in your life that care about you. They will help you find yourself again. Finally, I want to thank you for being here. People around you may not say it as often as they should, but you mean the world to so many.
