The Seventeenth One.

 Afternoon,

Subheading: Learning through loss. 

Every time someone I love passes away, the words to express what I'm feeling seem to get harder to find rather than easier. I imagine that it's because the older I get, the more knowledge I've accrued about the facets of life, and love, and in turn- what the absence of life means to me. Also, I just know so many more synonyms for life; like chronicle, vitality, or effervescence. Which one is right? How do you choose what to say to guide the ones you love through an event that will be viewed through so many different lenses of grief?

I've been trying to think about what I've felt in moments of significant loss, and what I've learned in their wake. The answer to my grief surely must be tangled in there somewhere.

When my Meme, my Great Grandma Verna, passed away there was a moment that stood out, and I've carried it through the years unwittingly. As we all stood silently beside her grave, we were invited to scatter a hand full of dirt into the darkness below. It struck me as odd then, even though I generally understood the significance of the act. We come from the earth, and to the earth we will all return someday. That's a humbling and, probably, scientifically accurate explanation. However, and I ask this with no disrespect meant to my BFF science, don't we come from so much more? I remember feeling that as I stood there, "She deserves more than this fist full of dirt. This isn't enough." What I didn't understand yet was, I felt that way because I believe we all become more, too. 

You see, we all start off in the most innocuous of ways. Our parents meet, and sometimes friendship morphs into something more pliable, beautiful, something... else. Love. New life. Us. Whatever our origin, whatever we were before we were even a fleeting idea, or our parents were a fleeting idea, or dirt, what we become is a story. Sometimes that story is short, really more of an anecdote. Sometimes that story is Law and Order, 31 years running and still going strong. The thing I find most serendipitous in life is, however we're compiled, pieces of our story find their way into the stories of others. Like a quote from our favorite author that we share so many times, our friends hardly remember the author, they only remember us. 

My Grandma is in so many of my stories. 

In some of them she is there literally. I'm a toddler, and I'm running full speed up the driveway chasing our family dog, Shadow. On the embarrassingly large collection of VHS tapes, my Grandpa is usually holding the camera, chasing after me. Inevitably, I come close to eating pavement, and then out of nowhere- my Grandma comes racing on screen, arms outstretched, ready to catch me. She's normally yelling something really sweet like, "You're about to be on your ass!" or, "Well what did you do that for?" 

Sometimes she's sitting on the floor, and I have managed to tie her short hair into about 50 tiny pony tails. This is unfortunate because, the pizza guy is about to come, and he did not sign up for this.

Sometimes we are sitting at the kitchen table in the middle of summer. The side door is open, and I can smell the steak my Grandpa is cooking behind the house. I'm impatient for dinner, bored, and I am trying to draw a mermaid. But... how does one draw a mermaid, you know? And where exactly is a mermaid's butt? I ask my Grandma, and she says, "Probably in the bottom of her tail, how the hell am I supposed to know?" We're laughing uncontrollably because, these are the important questions you ask at dinnertime, right? She takes my pen, and she draws a dot on the tail for the mermaid's butthole. When my Grandpa comes inside, he is not amused. My Grandma hangs it on the fridge anyway. 

I have just as many stories for when she was only there metaphorically. As much as she was there by my side, she stayed with me everywhere she couldn't be, guiding me like that favorite quote. 

I found the perfect one while watching an episode of Criminal Minds this week, by the way:

"Death ends a life, not a relationship."
-Mitch Albom (?)
-Maybe. This has been attributed to multiple people.

Death may mean we can't touch someone anymore, but it will never mean that they stop touching us. 

You didn't need to know Donna well to know what a completely selfless person she was. You'd know it the day you met, because from that day forward, you were her family. I don't just mean for a little while, or on holidays, but every day and with every breath, she loved you. Your photo was on her bookshelf in her room so she could see you every day. We put many of them by her bedside in the hospital, so you were there in the very end. More than anyone I ever knew, no relationship was ever about what she could gain from it, it was always approached from a place of giving, and gratitude for the chance to help someone. Every close friend that I have knows, the moment we met, I loved you with everything I had. Because you know that, there is a piece of Donna inside of you as well. 

In the end of one of my very favorite movies, Shakespeare in Love, spoiler alert, Shakespeare is saying goodbye to the love of his life, Viola. Viola says to him, "Write me well." knowing that after she leaves, she will be reborn into countless plays and sonnets. He says to her in return, "You will never age for me, nor die." The most important thing I hope you will walk away understanding today echoes in that sentiment. The very best part about stories is that, whenever we revisit them, or share them with someone else, they're reborn. The people we love, the characters of those stories, they're reborn, too. Infinitely.

Donna is a part of your story now. Write her well.

As usual, I hope you enjoyed this stuff, and come back for more things.