The heat of what feels like a late August night fills this July 2nd home, while the crackles and booms of celebratory fireworks fill the air just outside my window. They’re close enough to smell the gunpowder discharge, but there is no celebration here—only the lingering silence between the bursts. The timing between each round feels like a pause, an exhale, as I sit at my desk, staring at a blank page in search of words.
These are not the words I wanted to write today, but I hope to find them, nonetheless.
Today, the day before her birthday, my cousin passed away unexpectedly. She was the only daughter of my aunt, who lost my uncle last August. Over the years, she’s endured so much loss, including the death of one of her sons. These past ten months, grappling with the pain of losing my uncle, have been nothing short of torturous for her. She wasn’t quite there yet—still trying to find her footing on this journey of grief and loneliness—and now, this. Fate has no regard for time or timing.
The pain of this loss is hard to put into words. My cousin was more like a sister to me than just family, and now the space she leaves behind feels too vast to describe in just a few paragraphs. But it’s important to me that the mark she made on those around her, on all of us who loved her, is felt just as profoundly as the silence that now lingers.
The distance between us—her living so far away in the south—makes this all the more difficult. No number of words can truly encapsulate a life, a person, in their entirety. But I find myself with a responsibility to share what I can, to make sure her memory is carried forward in a way that honors her spirit.
I have my work cut out for me, but I will carry this with love and gratitude for having known her.