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| May 19, 2015 out for ice cream after her choir concert |
It's been three years today since suicide stole my little sister Maggie from us. Those words sting to type and still feel unbelievable, three long years later. It's true what they say- it doesn't get easier, you just get stronger.
The both/and life continues... So much life has happened for me, for my whole family, since Maggie's death. And with each and every milestone that passes without her, we feel her absence. I am planning my wedding with my best friend and soulmate, who she will never meet. It breaks my heart that she won't be there with me on what I'm sure will be one of the best days of my life.
I don't think my heart will ever be whole again. Maybe that's right and good. She will always be missing, and I will always be missing her. These three years I've been earnestly seeking a way to incorporate this lifelong grief into my life in a way that improves me. I feel strongly that it is right to both weep and laugh at my memories of her. Losing Maggie has changed me forever, and I am choosing to grow through my grief.
I say "I love you" all the time, constantly aware that tomorrow isn't promised. I care for the people in my life wholeheartedly and unapologetically. I am somehow less afraid of the darkness, because I know that I have faced something incomprehensible and continued on through it. I am calm and careful in every risk assessment I conduct with clients, knowing how important it is to make sure they know I am listening. I call my siblings some weekday afternoons just because. I work hard to keep margin in my life even during the busiest times of the semester. I actively count the blessings in my life so I don't miss the beauty of the human experience. I know that time with loved ones is more precious than any single other thing in this life.
Let me be clear: I will never say that Maggie's death happened for a reason, or that God called her home early, or anything of the sort. It will never be okay. And also, I can choose to be better for what I have endured and continue to process. Some hours, some days, I'm a mess. It's sad and it's hard and it isn't fair, and so I take my time to cry long and hard. Most days, I am actively engaged in building a life I love. It is not one or the other. It is missing her, remembering her, grieving her, even as I embrace the people and the life still in front of me.
