Last Sunday, I received some devastating news. One of my distant relatives, the daughter of one of my mom’s many cousins, had unexpectedly lost her life at the age of 16. I didn’t know her very well, as I only saw her on occasion, when we were both at our moms’ houses and they decided to get together, and I can’t exactly pinpoint the last time that had happened. Was it my 18th birthday? Did we even speak? Our only contact, really, was over Facebook. Still, I was shocked; still, my heart broke.
The funny thing about losing someone you weren’t ever very close with is that it still hurts. It’s a confusing hurt, one where you’re not sure if you should be as upset as you are, one where you can’t necessarily decipher what it is that’s making your heart swell so much, because there are people who knew them so much better and whose lives are being impacted so much more than yours. But still, all week, I have gone through my days not being able to get the situation out of my head. I have thought about death, about life, about family, about friendship, about my existence in this huge world, about fate and coincidence, about the cruelties of chance. I have cried. I have felt guilty for not being as close to her as I perhaps could have been, or for at least not “liking” and commenting on more of her Facebook posts. I have felt guilty for not being able to be very close to that entire side of the family.
When I go to try to sort out this mess of feelings, there are a few things I can tangibly understand. Firstly, I know that I am angry. This girl was so young, and she had her whole life ahead of her. She was in high school, had a ton of friends, and had a huge family that loved her; this is apparent now more than ever. Hundreds of people have written on her Facebook wall and attended the services held for her. She was so loved.
I am even more angry because her death was a complete, tragic accident. It is one of those happenings of life that smacks everyone in the face and couldn’t have been predicted by anyone. No one was ready. This beautiful girl lost her life because someone was playing with a gun and she was in its range when it went off.
Guns are not toys. Let me repeat this: guns are not toys. I’ve never liked the idea of these lethal weapons, especially with America’s track record of shootings, but now, I cannot even fathom getting near one. I am disgusted and I am angry that so many people I know would try to defend this, and I am angry that the weapon was so accessible in the first place. This should not have happened.
I also know that I am confused. Why did it have to happen to her? Do I deserve to feel the way I do, even though I didn’t know her the way others did? Is she in a better place? Did she know how much everyone loved her? Why does death always pick the best people?
I rushed home for her funeral this weekend, and while I feel a little bit more at peace, seeing someone like that is never easy, and seeing the people who loved them hurting is even harder. It was one of the hardest things I have ever done. I know she is resting and it feels a little bit like this might all be "over," but my heart still hurts. I know others feel the same and even worse. She looked so beautiful and tranquil, and my only hope is that the rest of us can start to feel that same tranquility.
I honestly am not entirely sure why I have written this article. I think it is partly for me to try to release some of what I’ve been holding in for days, partly to honor Kaylee and her life, partly to show that, at the end of the day, closeness does not dictate whether I loved her or not (because I’m sure others have felt this way), and partly to give my family and myself some peace of mind. I’m not sure that there is a huge point to it; it would just feel wrong to write about anything else right now. It is as messy and as directionless as my emotions have been, as death is. This is a part of my grief, getting it out in the only way I know how. Rest in peace, Kaylee.
