on grief (for Catheryn)
15 years ago today I learned my dear childhood friend was missing following a boating accident in Utah.
I was still in Savannah, finishing my last class before graduating and moving across the country in a couple months’ time.
Catheryn was newly married and in love. She called me a few weeks prior to catch up and ask about mural techniques to create one for her stepson. I wish I could remember more of our last call.
The next day I learned my grandfather had passed.
The amount of loss in such a short time was too much for me to process.
I wasn’t close with other friends of Catheryn’s and I had no funds to get me to Utah once they recovered her body and held a funeral.
I attended my grandfather’s funeral in Chicago and wasn’t really present. I loved and missed him but he was 90 and got to live a full life. My friend was 23.
We met when I was 9 and newly initiated to groups of kids (I was homeschooled before that). Catheryn was one of few kids who were kind to me- inclusive and accepting.
Kind but not catering.
She had little patience for my victimhood over the years (what a gift). She was wise well beyond her years. She cared so little what others thought. She enjoyed life so fully it was contagious. She was always in my corner and always showed up for me- my biggest cheerleader.
We loved each other deeply.
Over the years, the grief has lessened, of course. Five years ago, I got to spend some time with some of her siblings in Utah, see where she lived and where she was buried which was deeply healing when I had felt so alone in my grief for so long. I wanted our friendship to be seen and validated, for others to know how important we were to each other.
What I’ve learned since is no matter who else is grieving, everyone’s journey is a solo one. I liked an analogy I read recently of everyone who loved a person being stranded at the top of a mountain with different injuries and having to figure out a way down. You can lean on others a little but their grief is uniquely theirs.
When my beloved Kopi passed, I wrote this: grief is a gift, dear ones. I think the reason we use black to represent it is because it’s a mix of all of the colors of the spectrum, all of our emotions, not because it’s the absence of light. It takes your whole heart. It can be pushed away for a while but wants to move through you and will eventually find a way. It’s not something to be afraid of- it will never give you more than you can handle- this is why it comes in waves. Everyone is grieving something because we are always transitioning, things are always changing forms.
I have a different relationship with Catheryn now- I feel her with me frequently. When we’ve really moved through grief is when these connections are possible- they aren’t in the sadness. I still have tears, even writing this, even 15 years later. The tears feel now more connected to myself as a 22 year old who had no tools, no ability to process such profound loss.
Nothing changes the fact that I wish her human form were still here- that absence will always be felt. But when I think of her and reconnect into her energy and all she’s taught me, it doesn’t feel so heavy. Our connection is still a living gift, as is grief itself.