i knew ellen had passed away before i was told. i woke up early that morning, and immediately felt a bone-deep exhaustion that i knew did not come from a lack of sleep. while it would soon make itself at home in my body, that tiredness was, at the time, unfamiliar, and it weighed me down to my bed for a while.
usually it’s the unknown that scares me, but it turned out there was another level of terror in knowing exactly what was going to happen once i left my bedroom. knowing i was in for a world of pain, and there was no way to soften the blow, no way to spin it into something prettier - no way that didn’t sound delusional, anyway.
i steeled myself, somehow. my fingers shook when they hovered above my door handle. the last vivid memory i have of the first few days of grief is that moment alone - where i said a quiet goodbye to everything i knew about the world. where by leaving my bedroom, i was splitting my life in two; before and after.
after, everything frayed at the edges within seconds of me experiencing them. i try to hang onto every memory i can. all of it is sacred to me. the feeling that my chest is ripping open, a void trickling into my ribcage - no matter how painful it is, it’s a reminder in my moments of doubt that i loved her with everything in me.
i still remember the moments i’d leave the house - i could not fathom the idea of making small talk with people who did not understand. but of course, with things like that, people flock to you anyway. and i swallowed the bitterness, because it didn’t belong where anyone could see it. i smiled. when people told me they had no idea what they’d do if their sister died, i did not tell them that i had no idea what i was doing either. i thanked everyone who called me ‘strong’ or ‘resilient’ and let myself dream in silence of never being called those words again, of never again being applauded for how well i could take a hit.
i fought the urge to shake people and ask them how on earth they could go on knowing the world had ended. the bitter pill to swallow was that the world didn’t end, and i still had to function. no matter how little i wanted to, i still had to live.
it took ellen passing away for me to realise how much of a luxury existence is. it’s an immense privilege to be able to walk the earth. and still, to this day, i feel guilty for having it. the guilt is the hardest thing to let go of. it puts me on a double-edged sword, where i’m simultaneously too much and not enough. it makes me question everyone around me, and especially myself. it follows me everywhere i go.
in the last year (and a bit), grief has shaped me, in good ways and bad. i am beginning to embrace that i am a completely different person than i was last year, last month, even. i’m not just grieving ellen, but also my identity, my childhood, my faith in any sort of higher power. it’s messy.
i am beginning to pick myself up. i’m no longer in survival mode, no longer just taking it one day at a time. it’s been hard to give myself permission to feel okay, to let myself experience genuine happiness - to acknowledge the guilt without letting it ruin me anymore. to face the future with the acceptance that ellen won’t be a part of it, or at least not in the way i want her to be.
i don’t know where ellen is now. i still don’t know what i believe in. but i hope she’s finally at peace. i hope she knows how loved she still is by everyone who had the honour of knowing her. i hope she feels the legacy we’re carrying on. i hope in the next lifetime i’ll be able to hear her laughter from another room. until then, i’ll keep looking for the sun. <3
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