The more death I experience in my life, the more difficult
it becomes to deal with. I thought that as I got older, I would begin to
understand grief and the grieving process more, but I am no closer to figuring
it out now than when I was 12.
Death is one of those things that you don’t expect to happen
to you. Death is something that
happens to other people. In the
beginning of my fiction studio this semester, my professor asked us if we
remembered the moment when we finally realized our own mortality. As my
classmates told stories of their childhoods, I racked my brain, trying to pick
out a moment in my life where I truly understood that I will die someday. Three
of my four grandparents died before I entered middle school, so it’s not like I
had a shortage of death in my young life. But looking back, none of these
deaths had the effect on me that my professor and classmates were describing.
That all changed on the morning of February 27, 2017.
When one of my good friends texted me telling me that my
high school friend Tyler had died in a car accident the previous night, I
thought it was a mistake. She must be talking about some other girl that I
didn’t know. After the initial shock, I began to feel tears streaking down my
face at a rapid pace. I remember being mad at myself because I had just put on
my makeup for the day. I was confused as to why this was affecting me so deeply
because I hadn’t seen Tyler in about 3 years.
But I think that just goes to show the type of person she
was. I met Tyler Lin Cherrington in band during my sophomore year of high
school (her freshman year). I don’t remember the first day I met her, or even
my first impression of her, but I remember her spirit. There are too many words
and not enough space in the world to describe Tyler. She was bubbly, confident,
brave, bright, intelligent, funny, quirky, and kind, just to name a few. There
was never a dull moment with her. At every band or theater party, you could
always find her at the food table, grabbing the entire bag of chips and taking
it to the couch with her. It’s a miracle she didn’t weigh 400 pounds based on
how much she liked food. Whenever I passed her in the hallway or turned around
to look at her in band, she would shoot me her signature double-chin look. She was
the loudest quiet person I ever met.
Tyler had such a bright future ahead of her. She was the
easiest person in the world to talk to because she was so accepting of
everyone. She was friends with someone before I even had the chance to ask for
their name. She’ll never get to graduate from college and pursue her dreams.
She’ll never get to experience love and marriage and having children and buying
a house and traveling the world. So much vibrant life, now gone.
Although I haven’t seen or even talked to Tyler in about 3
years, not a day goes by now that I don’t think about her. Losing her has left
a hole in my heart. I aspire to be the kind, compassionate, carefree, and brave
woman that she never failed to be. I see her in every ray of sunlight poking through
the clouds, and my favorite elephant necklace has taken on a whole new meaning.
I thank God for bringing her into my life, and I’m sorry I never got the chance
to realize or tell her how much she means to me. I’ll always remember her
shining spirit, and the memories we made will keep her alive in my heart,
forever.
This loss of life made me realize that anyone could die any
day. The girl I see every day on the shuttle, the guy I sit next to in class,
my coworker, my best friend, and even me. I’m not saying that I now live in
constant fear of losing someone I know at any given moment, but it’s definitely
something I think about more often. If anything, this experience has taught me
to cherish each moment I spend with someone and be completely open and honest
with people, although I’m still working on that last part.
