A couple months ago a friend of mine said that aging shouldn’t exist in the pandemic. We were 23 when the first lockdown happened and I’ll be 25 by the time this one lifts properly. In her eyes we should all still count as 23.
I wish that could be true but it wouldn’t really be doing us justice, would it? We aren’t the same age we were. Time has passed. We’ve been through a lot and we cannot pretend that those things didn’t happen.
Yesterday this became painfully apparent to me. The world lost a bright light when a vibrant and beautiful woman passed away. She was 24 and I had known her since we were 10. One time she slept over at my house; I pierced her ears Parent Trap style and she nearly cried when my mom made us cinnamon bun-waffles in the morning. She was a wild spirit who felt things so sincerely.
She won’t have hundreds of people come to her funeral but she will not be forgotten by anyone who had the privilege of knowing her. It’s challenging to come up with a private way of honouring the extraordinary life she led when we cannot be with and comfort the other people who are effected by this loss.
One thing is perfectly true of her, she lived life passionately being herself. Nothing could stop her. So for today, since I don’t know where else to start with this grief, I am going to buy some cinnamon buns to make into waffles and try to come up with a couple ways of living my life more authentically.
Everyone has lost someone or something in the pandemic without any of the previous ways we used to grieve. We are all trying to adjust to our new reality but don’t forget that this is a challenging process, please be kind to yourself and those around you.
Mingo, thank you for all the wonderful lessons and memories. Rest in peace.
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