Breadcrumb Memories

Grief is tricky because there are two sides to the process which seem almost impossible to exist simultaneously. On one hand, grief is a process of self-isolation. You fear that the way you grieve is not normal.

Am I supposed to be back to normal? Are people judging me for grieving too much or too little? This self-doubt leads you to push others away, hiding so to appear strong, or to appear normal in a time where nothing will ever be the same ‘normal’ you once knew again.

You throw up walls, building barriers like sharp and brittle branches growing around you to protect you from any more pain.

I’m with Bianca every day. Small things constantly remind me of her, whether we shared a moment in that space or with those people. These moments can, even for a second, fool me into believing that she’s not gone.

I see her hair; long and thick. Brown, but not in a boring way. Almost as though she was born with a darker complexion to highlight the brightness of her soul.

I hear her laugh. It surrounds me like warm water. Fills a room and engulfs me like a pool. I hear her in the waves, as I heard her voice dancing up and down the hall through the thin walls of Del Rey South.

Her mom said the wind is her way of telling us she’s still here. So, when I see the wind moving through plants and feel its breeze on my skin, I feel her.

On the other hand, grief builds community. Everyone who has felt the impact of the person lost naturally comes together. We search for memories and anecdotes in an effort to find what we lost even if only for a few moments. To smile the way we once smiled when they were still with you.

It’s easy to feel alone. But, as flowers grow together, grieving brought me closer to my friends in a way I thought could never be possible in such short period of time.

I often found myself hiding. In the shadows, scared that if I came out and faced the absurdity of living a normal life again I’d quickly realize nothing would be the same.

I still feel her warm hug. The color yellow always reminds me of her. I’ve been told to paint my room yellow because its proven to improve your mood. Bianca lived like the color yellow.

These pieces of Bianca that have been left on our hearts and minds, however, can make long days more difficult.

Seeing a yellow flower can feel like a kick in the gut.

Instantly, I feel a dark hand enveloping my torso and yanking me back to the moment I realized I’d never hear her laugh again. Dragging me back to the cold floor of the chapel where we cried for what felt like a lifetime gripping onto our sunflowers and onto each other and through the nights I stayed up fighting the painful urge to scream because everything felt like madness.

But, just as the sun lowers behind the horizon after another day of following the trail of breadcrumb memories Bianca left behind only to rise again in a few hours, I rest in bed thankful for the life I make each day and the people who love me.

We choose very few of the gifts we are given.

Some higher power, whether you choose to identify with a specific god or not, has placed us on earth in these bodies for a reason. Meeting Bianca was not a coincidence, she was a gift. Like most gifts, they come at a time when you need them most and once they’ve fulfilled their duties they are set free.

Her soul had come to learn what she had learned, love who she had loved, and now she is free.

Though it seems unfair to lose someone without an explanation, we must look into ourselves to remember all the lasting impacts she has on us. Her sweet laugh that had the power to pull you from even the darkest of places, her unending positivity that made you feel so loved and empowered you could conquer the world, but above all else; we must never forget her genuine spirit. Her spirit which is still with us today, in everything we do.

In our prayers, our tears, the sun that shines on our skin, the warmth we feel from the sea breeze, and in our sisterhood. Nothing, death included, can take that away from us. Remember her every time you feel the suns rays on your skin, every time you see a sun flower, or watch a colorful sunset. She is all around us, within us, and watching over us—always and forever.

**This was a piece I wrote for my Journalism and New Media course (around March 2018) following the loss of a friend in November of 2017. The assignment was based on 20 things we come across in a single day, and I focused on 20 things I saw in a day that reminded me of Bianca as I went through the grief process.