BY ANASTASIA SMITH, CONTRIBUTING WRITER
Getting a call after midnight is never a good sign. But now, I get knots in my stomach, if my phone rings at all.
On October 17th, 2020, I got a call at about 2:30 a.m. My dad was on the other end, sobbing. I immediately knew something was wrong because my dad does not cry. He finally choked out “Cheyenne’s been murdered.”
I didn’t understand. I just kept saying, “what?” over and over. But then it clicked. All I could say was, “oh my God,” again and again. The next thing I remember was sobbing on my bathroom floor with my girlfriend a few feet away, trying to console me.
Cheyenne was one of my best friends. I’ve never met anybody who smiled so brightly or cared so fiercely. She had a YouTube channel where she documented her life and shared her struggles with depression and anxiety. Her favorite color was yellow.
It’s been a little over a year, and I’ve attended vigils and memorials and trials. But nothing brings back the dead. And so we have to learn to live with loss, as impossible as it can feel sometimes. These are some things that ease the pain of grief from someone who’s been there.
One: Relish in the little things. When I came back to campus from the sentencing of Cheyenne’s murderers, I noticed a small rock on the fire hydrant in front of my apartment. It’s painted yellow with the message ‘Shine Bright’ on its front. I carry that rock everywhere with me now because I know she would have found it cute and inspiring. Whenever life gets to be too much, I hold it for a little while. Cherish those small, happy pieces of life. Whether it’s a warm coffee on a cold morning, a random knick knack or a funny picture, you have to hold onto the little things to keep you going on the hard days.
Two: Keep in touch. Writing letters to the dead seems pointless, but it isn’t. No, they can’t receive them, but you have to turn the release valve on your grief because it’s so much lonelier when you don’t. It can feel like nobody is listening, but when talking to a lost loved one, you feel as though they are listening, and science shows that it helps. When I write to Cheyenne, I make a paper boat from the letter and send it into a body of water. It feels like someone is receiving it, even if it’s actually just the river.
Three: Slow down. This was the hardest part for me and still is. You cannot rush grief as much as you may want to. I am my own worst critic, and I get mad at myself if I’m not productive 24/7. I felt so much pressure to heal faster and get back to normal a little faster. So I tried to. I went back to classes and took on projects. I tried so hard to push my loss to the backburner. All it did was bottle up those feelings until they burst. I am still figuring out how not to do that. This article is one of my attempts to break the habit. I’ve also taken up journaling, music therapy and intend to join a support group in the future. Running from your own mind is impossible, so slow down. Sit with your feelings. They tell you something. Talk to a counselor, talk to a friend and do not isolate yourself.
Grief is something society would like to brush under the rug. We are supposed to be strong and not quake in the face of anguish. We cannot always be that person. We cannot always be strong. Losing someone you love feels like losing a part of yourself, and that’s okay. Pain isn’t something to run from because it makes us human.
And so I’m writing this to remember my friend, one of the strongest people I have ever known. A memorial scholarship has been founded in her name at Medina High School. Donations have been given to the Just Tell One campaign in her memory as she was an advocate with their organization. Her vigils are always packed with all of the people she loved and loved her. The lives she touched, before and after her death, are countless.
I’m also writing this for the other people grieving. Losing someone you love makes the entire world feel dead and gray. So, if you take anything from this article, please take this: you are not alone.
