My friend Max describes my life as having been "forcefully and violently reordered". His words, in that exact order, are jarringly poignant. They've become my mantra. They hold both despair and promise.
My family, my life, my purpose, my heart, my thoughts, my everything. Reordered. Forcefully and violently.
We become different people once we are burdened by trauma. I have been struggling for a couple of months with my own expectation of eventually being "better". I will never be better; I will always be changed. I can't be the person I was when I lived in the same world as Meredith. I lived for thirty years expecting to see beauty everywhere and constructed an almost-perfect world where that really
was my daily experience. I woke up each day of my life, here in Philadelphia, excited for adventures with friends. I used to double or even triple book plans every Thursday, Friday, Saturday because I wanted to do everything. I'd blow off first dates for dancing with girlfriends with a giggle and a flourish. It was incredibly fun. And I feel completely disconnected from that life. I don't know that Jess anymore. She had unabridged energy and joy to offer. I miss her. I am someone different, now.
I tend to avoid Walnut Street and Rittenhouse Square. My beloved a.bar is too close to too many memories of who I used to be. The last night I saw my sister, we went to a.bar for a cocktail and she told me the funniest joke she probably ever told in her entire life. We laughed until there were tears in our eyes. It's painful to realize I will never laugh that deeply again. I'm not afraid of going into a.bar. I'm not afraid of seeing people. I'm afraid of people seeing me and realizing I'm not going to be "better." It's not easy to accept.
And hey, I still smile often. I experience great love and connection in hugs and conversations. I still want to pet (steal?) every dog I meet. I will always love singing along to a deliciously filthy rap song. I love curling up in my bed with my pet bunny, Kevin, each night and kissing his little ears. When I'm really lucky, my brother, his girlfriend, my girlfriends, and I get just tipsy enough on expensive cocktails to forget
that our lives have been violently reordered and we laugh the kind of belly laughs that linger on your abs the next morning. I experience moments of genuine joy and they give me hope. I will never be an unmarred, carefree little sister again; but I remain a loving daughter, big sister, and friend. I live in a different world than I envisioned; I will do different things than I anticipated. I accept that.
A tragically large number of my closest friends have lost parents, siblings, grandparents, friends, and children in the past several months. As we discover our world painful and sad, I appreciate hope more than ever. If you are incredibly fortunate, your tragedy can connect you to others. I lived a lighter life without knowing this great despair; but I have found remarkable beauty in the way my broken friends and I have supported one another.
I don't have the answers. I just know that a lot of us are walking around with heavy hearts wondering if we are entirely alone. It is very hard to accept something as massive as death. It's final. How can life be so joyous one moment and so cruel the next? I don't know. I do know that we are all going to find our lives reordered, in some way, at some point. All we can do is take turns leaning on one another. If you don't know who to lean on, I'm here. Talk to me.
The only way I know to honor my sister as I navigate my new world, and new self, is to keep sharing and loving.
We aren't going to be better
. We are going to be something else. I don't know what.