--from March 6, 2019
Sometimes when the sun shines a little brighter, piercing through the windowpane in my apartment, touching my face so gently and warmly, it feels like her hand. It feels like her palm holding my cheek, reminding me that she is here.
It is a strange thing, loss. Someone you spent so many moments with--a person whose hair you used to twirl, whose voice was your comfort, who gave you life--is suddenly a fragmented memory that you so desperately try to recall but with time it becomes more difficult.
I lost my mother to cancer when I was eight.
At eight years old, there was not much to understand about death. It was very black and white. I did not have much of a choice but to just keep moving on. My mom was there, and then she wasn't. I still wanted to go to school, wanted to go to hockey practice, wanted to do what made me feel as normal as possible.
Despite how many times I touched her yellow skin, how many times I saw my father cry, or people dressed in dark clothes look at my sister and I with such pity on their faces, or how many pictures my classmates drew and left on my desk...it wasn't until I was a young adult trying to navigate the waves of my life that I would really miss her.
When you find yourself so close to Death's presence that you can almost hear His breath, it's like you're handed this new pair of glasses. God just says "all right, now you will forever see things with a softness that literally no one else will quite understand until they've seen the things you've seen, too."
And that's pretty much it. That is all you get. The rest is left for you to figure out on this crazy whirlwind journey we tend to call "life."
As I grow older I wonder what she would be like, the kind of funny mannerisms she would have or the looks she'd give me when I'd tell her stories. I wonder if she'd be proud of me or if I'm doing the right thing. I wonder what she'd think of the boy I've fallen completely in love with.
I know of course the answers might seem so obvious, but sometimes I wonder what it'd be like to hear her voice say the words. Someday I will again.
Although my angel is no longer with me, she is still around. There is no doubt in my mind she has her arms around my family today.
You see, the best part is that my dad fell in love again. To the most beautiful, remarkable, spunky, caring woman who I am quite frankly convinced is a real angel on this earth. She is my guiding light now, my advice-giver, my best friend. She never ceases to include our angel in all things.
There is my father whose eyes sparkle when he reflects on the memory of my mother, and whose smile is larger than ever when he talks about my mom now. He shows me strength, perseverance, and that love really does overcomes everything.
And my sister. I know the pain in her heart still exists like in mine, but the kindness she shows towards others and the courage that pours out of her soul in everything she does is remarkable.
My angel lives inside of her. Of all of us.
And my gosh I know she is every sunflower I see, every dragonfly that flies by, the crackle of the ice beneath my skates. She's my clumsiness, my passion to suck the marrow out of life because it is FAR too short, my happy-go-lucky attitude. She is the laughter I have when I feel so lost in life and look to the sky and ask "what the actual hell am I doing?"
She is that little feeling that everything's going to be okay.
Yeah, loss sucks, but it really does bring a preciousness to life like no other.
I am not really sure why I felt the need to write about this today, or why the words spilled from my fingertips, but it happened. I guess I wanted to remind you all that no matter what is occurring in this lifetime, what might break you, or knock you down, or drown you,
A light will come from the darkness.
Cherish the web of life--the people who come and go and every single connection you have because life is fragile and beautiful and fantastic all wrapped up in one.
Much love,
Baylee
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