I wish I could do something to fix this.
Make a casserole. Hook a scarf. Buy everyone dinner. Give her a hug. Bring her back.
As the youngest person there, I inadvertently became the center of attention. They toasted my pithy achievements a little too loudly. I blushed. When they told me, “It’s okay,” I know that they were merely trying to convince themselves.
In my naiveté, I had written this story with a different ending. She had, has, spirit and determination and courage in greater quantities than most of us. She’s one of those rare people with a gift for creating community, for loving and being loved.
I’m still grappling with the fact that all the love in the world can’t keep someone from dying.
My mom said, “Everything happens for a reason. We just don’t know the reason.” I told her that’s bullshit. There are no reasons. Shit happens. We deal with it. That’s life.
What on earth do you do while someone is letting go? I know I’m not the warm little center of the world; nevertheless, it seems strange that anything is business as usual right now. I feel disassociated, one step removed from the rest of humanity.
I’ve never lost someone I’ve loved. I used to wonder what to say in these situations, and now I know the answer. There is nothing. “I’m sorry,” doesn’t even begin to cover it. Why do people apologize for death, or, for that matter, mistakes that aren’t their fault? Verbiage should differentiate sympathy apologies from sorry-I-fucked-up situations.
My heart is entwined with the people dying in Iran as I write, and with my aunt. I can’t disentangle these events. We’re already planning, moving on, speaking in the past tense. I’m not sure this is appropriate, but how should I feel? Fighting is only possible for so long. I respect the fact that sometimes life is too much, much too much for any one of us to bear.
I want to see her, speak to her, tell her I love her, that my life was better for having known her. I know that this desire is more for me than for her. I know she wants me to laugh at the absurdity of grief. I’m doing my best. Wine and courage are necessary in this endeavor. I just told a man who was hassling me to fuck off, emphatically. Mincing words has never been one of my strong points. What else can I do but celebrate life?
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