My wife told me you were gone while they were at a Taylor Swift concert. I can still hear the garbled words as she said you were gone. She still had to be strong for our daughters as the concert was about to start. I fought to get the phone off speaker, thankful my son was on his tablet with headphones on. I had no words. In the months since nothing has been the same. It never will be. We never got the chance to spin some vinyl together and share stories about music. In the days and months since you have been gone, I do hear you in my own way…In my own personal battles and in knowing your unabashed style of speaking, I hear you, and I want to believe you left this world and entered the next, looking for answers.
“if I just showed up at your party
Betty by Taylor Swift
Would you have me?
Would you want me?
Would you tell me to go f*** myself?
Or lead me to the garden?
In the garden would you trust me
I throw out the context of why Taylor wrote the song and just hear your voice in this simple snippet. I don’t know what happens, but I hear a conversation between you and the great beyond.
And we are all still here. We wrestle with the sudden loss and question ourselves and others. We don’t know what to do or say. We grieve. We plant a tree where our future house will be built. I hope to create a space where my wife knows her sister will be remembered. I plant it not where we are but where we will be someday. I planted it for her, but working the land around it, protecting it, and creating a space for it, is my therapy and grieving.
And so I push back and mow down the grass and weeds. Hoping to give your spirit a place to rest. Pushing back the darkness in my own heart. I make a place of beauty and remembrance.
I do it so my wife knows a beloved sister will not be forgotten as we move forward. I do it so that I remember how close to the edge I have walked and still dance.
I do it so that even though my sister is gone, our family can grow with her tree. We will find shade, peace, and a good place for conversation someday. But today, we still battle the overwhelming grief of loss.
And so I prepare the land. I work to make space for the stories we have yet to share.
I do look forward to the future as best as I can. I am reminded of others who have lost their battle with depression. I get caught up in my own struggles too. I know your story is over, but we move forward. And in a sign of remembrance and honor, there is a semi-colon butterfly tattoo my wife and I share.
It reminds me that life is bigger. That we change. I need to notice that change. Life is also delicate, and I need to watch out for broken wings.
I am sorry that you are gone. Someday, I will sit by your tree with a book of poetry or with some paints. I will find a way to turn on some vinyl, and I will remember. But for now, Taylor, a tree, and a tattoo will have to do.