I had trouble deciding what to write about. I have had a lot o grief and loss, especially within the last year, so I landed on that. It was hard to know what to DO with it though... Anyways, I am not sure how to submit, so I will just paste it below:

 

I am, unfortunately, no stranger to grief. Grief has entered my life, uninvited, since I was still learning basic arithmetic and phonics, maybe even before. It has continued to wreak havoc on my life to this day. There have been so many situations that have cut me to the core, goodbyes, expected and unexpected leaving me in a state of brokenness and anxiety. 

The first loss I can remember was that of my great-grandmother. I don’t have many memories of my great-grandmother or great-grandfather. I know they passed within a short period of each other, but I don’t remember when he passed. I do have a memory of playing with a pink car on my kitchen floor, and overhearing my mother mention to someone how my great-grandmother had passed away. All I said was, “No, she didn’t.” And I think I remember my mother agreeing with me. I was probably too young to understand. Death just meant “not here anymore, or ever again.” I still don’t understand.

My second loss was probably one of the most devastating losses I have ever experienced. My best friend, my grandmother. She had lived next door to me for the last couple years of her life. My family says they tried to tell me about her terminal diagnosis, but I don’t remember that. I was only about six years old, so I only remember the good times, baking cookies with her for Santa. I remember visiting her, knowing I had to be quiet because she was sick and needed rest. Then, coming home one day to being given a figurine of an angel, and a framed photo of us sitting next to each other on her back steps. Months of counseling and my first prescription for mental health followed.

Years went by, and I don’t remember anything else until high school. Until then, grief and the anxiety that came with it was an abstract, quiet background to my thoughts. I wouldn’t go away to camp, or stay with anyone but a select few people, for fear that something would happen to someone I loved, and I wouldn’t be there. Sure, this wasn’t a healthy or logical train of thought, but not all trains of thought run on the correct track. I like to think I had made some improvements, but it was still a worry. 

Then, in high school, I was told that my uncle didn’t have long. ALS had devastated his body, and he was going to officially marry my aunt, before it was too late. We went to the wedding, which was held in their house. Seeing him like that was one of the saddest moments of my life. My aunt was the only one who could really understand him, and he was basically fully dependent on others. It makes me feel guilty to say, but it was probably for the best that he passed just about a week later, very early in the morning. Less than a month later, his wife, my aunt, passed away suddenly, with no explanation given beyond that she had always had health issues.

These deaths sent me back into a severe fear of being away from my parents. My parents, as protective as they were, knew that that was not a healthy way for a fifteen year old girl to live, and when I told them that the National Honors Society was planning a trip to Chicago, hours away from my native Buffalo, assuming they would say I could not go, instead insisted that I was absolutely going. I was excited, sure, but there was a dread deep in my mind. I have suffered from OCD for most of my life, and all I could do when I thought about the trip was ruminate on the thought of one of my parents passing away while I was gone, and how I wouldn’t be there, and how I would be stuck in a purgatory of regret. I brought this up to my history teacher one day when he asked if I was excited for the trip. His response was simply, “I can almost guarantee you that wouldn’t happen… and if it did, it wouldn’t be your fault.” This was absolutely profound to fifteen year old me. I hadn’t realized it, but the core of my fear was the fear of losing someone I love, and it somehow being my fault for not being there.

The trip went smoothly, and I was given a few years of happiness with my friends and family. College came, and the year after my mother was diagnosed with cancer, we had to have my childhood dog put down. This sounds small to some, but as a lonely, bullied child with mental health issues, my dog had been my best friend for years. I had nightmares after, and still deal with the guilt that I should have known something was wrong sooner, and been able to help. By the end of college, I had lost another uncle to COVID-19, and family friends to various issues and illnesses. My brother’s house burned down before my eyes and he lost all his pets, which devastated the whole family. They were good pets.

2025 was a tough year for my family. A good friend of myself and my brother passed suddenly from a genetic heart condition that I wasn’t aware he had. A week and a half later, my aunt/godmother passed away, also suddenly, from a cardiac event in her sleep. Then, months later, a childhood friend was killed in a motorcycle accident. This led to issues with anxiety, which affected my ability to sleep.

This isn’t meant to be a dreary recounting of all the death I have experienced. I actually consider myself a positive person. But the truth is, death is the great equalizer, the only thing none of us will escape. In fact, I believe there can be joy in the midst of grief. When telling stories of our loved ones, there is joy. When looking at pictures, there is joy. Even during funerals, everybody is sad, but the sense of community is overwhelming. Leaning into the joy that comes is something that helps. Remembering that with great loss, there was great love. I was blessed with many people to love, and all I have been asked in return is to grieve when they leave their bodies, and start their eternity.