"Some people come into our lives, then quickly leave. Some people stay a while and help us become more than we ever were before. They leave footprints on out hearts, and we are never, ever the same."
Today, I woke up, and remembered walking down an aisle of a church. Past hundreds of faces I knew and loved, and hundreds of faces I didn't, but that knew and loved HER.
My hair tied back, the sloppily bleached blonde underneath and the spacers in my ears were the result of my summer away. Well, half of my summer away. I'd had to come back early. To see her. In that moment, I wished I was anywhere else. Back home, or at least where my home was that summer, with the girls who didn't really know who I was, where I came from, the people I knew, and who didn't know her. That was where I longed to be, rather than walking up the aisle of a church, a place where I didn't feel like I belonged to begin with, watching the tearful faces of the people around me, desperately holding back my own. I'm not one to not face death. Not one to walk away from my feelings when I suffer a loss. But right then, without her, without anyone to really tell me everything was going to be alright, I wanted to turn and run, throwing away the paper I held in my hand on the way out. I wanted to avoid. Pretend nothing had changed. Put off my grief for as long as I possibly could. And usually, I'm not one for that.
Instead, I walked.
After the choir had sang, after the priest had spoken, after her husband and children and friends had stood in front of us all and said their goodbyes, whether or not they were ready to, it was my turn. I didn't belong here. This wasn't my place. I wasn't her child, or her sibling or her parent. What right did I have to come up and speak, and talk about my experiences with her? I suppose it had been the manner in which her death had affected me. It hit me hard, shockingly so, in a way that no one had expected. It must have been my words. Or maybe it had been the way she had felt when she read them.
Before I knew it, I was there. Standing at the podium, my hands shaking, my voice threatening to crack, the tears threatening to fall. I looked up, and I saw my grandmother. My father. My aunts and uncles and cousins. They were all here because of a common bond. A bond of love, for her. I closed my eyes, for just a moment. I took a deep breath, and when I opened them, I read.
"The last time I saw Heather was May 18th 2009. I remember walking into her hospital room expecting the worst. Expecting to see someone I didn't recognize. Expecting to see someone else. But that was not the case. I walked in, and I remember thinking about how beautiful and peaceful she looked. She was asleep when I first arrived, and in tha moment I wouldn't have dreamt of disturbing her. I sat with Heather in that hospital room for the next five and a half hours, keeping her company when she woke, which wasn't often. During my visit, I wrote Heather a letter. I wrote down everything I was feeling, and felt like she needed to hear. I've been told that she greatly appreciated my words, and I've been asked to share them with you today, and I am honoured. Here were my last words to her.
'Dear Heather. When I think of Deep River, I remember climbing Mount Martin as a kid. The whole family enjoying the beautiful hike, and seven year old Erin bringing up the rear, as always. This was the family event that I dreaded the most. When I felt like my legs couldn't take another step, and plopped down on the nearest stump, vowing never to walk again. And even though I was a spoiled little brat, and probably didn't deserve it, you doubled back from the head of the group. You picked me up, dried my tears and helped me up the rest of the way, promising me that the view from the top would be worth every step. And it was. All I know how to say to you, Heather, is thank you. You are the glue that has held this family together all these years, and we are forever grateful. You raised three beautiful children who will carry the strength you have taught them for the rest of their lives. They love you. We love you. I love you. Know that when I walk across a stage I am thinking of you, and your undying passion. You have inspired me to get up and take the few steps through life that make in all worthwhile, and I am forever grateful for that. All my love, Airbear.'"
And that was it. After that day, I got back on a bus, went back to camp and had to pretend nothing had happened. Because what could anyone have said to me to make it better? A group of twenty girls who had no idea who she was, what she was like, or what she stood for would never have been able to say anything to help me through what I was going through. By the time I returned home, it had been over a month, and everyone who did know her had done their grieving, and wanted to move on. I was stuck. Alone. Completely lost in a world where everything reminded me of her. I'm still stuck there in a lot of ways. I still have so much to say, so many questions. But for the first time in my life, I can't find the words.
