Two years ago today, I found out my sister passed away. I never thought of this as an anniversary, but it is something I think about now for the whole month of August.
It was my first weekend of grad school, I had a presentation I was working on, and I was irrationally afraid my Professors would think I was incapable of performing if I told them; for however long I was on campus everyday, I completely pretended like my sister hadn’t even passed. When I came home, I completely unraveled. I remember when I left the house for the first time after finding out that I felt it was so weird that the whole world was still going on as normal. I’ve found in the two subsequent years since that it keeps going, too.
I’ve learned a lot about forgiveness and resolution and I’ve learned that grief is not a linear predictable line. There are still times when I find myself grabbing for my sunglasses in my car to hide my completely unexpected crying; it could be a song or a commercial that I know Anne would have liked, it could be when people ask basic getting to know you questions like “how many siblings do you have?”, or it could be absolutely nothing at all.
One of my sister’s concerns before she passed is that no one would remember her or miss her. If you’re struggling with depression or psychiatric illnesses and this thought has ever crossed your mind, you should know that it isn’t true. Anne, you are missed and you are remembered. Most importantly, you are loved.