"That night I was happy"

“It has been a long uphill haul, this path that grief set me on. I was laid out by life’s hideousness that night. One moment I was puttering around my parents’ 70’s era kitchen, complete with yellow appliances and dark dated wood. It had been the scene of many family cooking matches and leisurely meals, as well as some harried ones. It was a place of comfort and family bonds. The next moment, there was a knock on the door, and hell entered in the form of a subdued policeman asking me to get my parents.

I knew, as we all do, why he was there. I barely remember the rest of the evening. I don’t recall knocking on my parents’ bedroom door, and I’ve tried to repress their hysterical sobbing, the officer’s softly spoken condolences.

My sister was killed over spring break in a car accident. Her boyfriend simply took a turn too fast, missed the curve and hit a tree. They say she died instantly. Her boyfriend never heard a noise from her after a loud gasp right before impact. I was the older sister by two years; her protector and mentor as she set off for college at U of O, following in my footsteps. She was the social butterfly of the family where I am more introverted and studious. I love music and play the violin and piano. She loved kids and wanted to be a middle school social studies teacher. We were different but I think that helped us be close. We didn’t feel the need to compete with each other because we each had our own niche. We just complemented each other.

I wonder what she would have done if the reverse happened. If I had died suddenly, she would have turned to others. She always had a great network of friends and admirers. They would have been her support. I, on the other hand, turned inward. Maybe it is the way of artists, writers, musicians. I poured myself into music. I wrote musical poetry of my sister, her vivaciousness, her compassion, the deep hole her death created. I stayed up late into the night composing, not resting until I got a run of notes just right. Then I would collapse into bed, completely drained.

I meant to keep my sister’s music private. It would be just for the two of us because when I played it, I felt her there with me. The feeling was so strong that I didn’t want the music to end. I would lose her over and over again. But, Professor Scott overheard me playing a piece on my violin and convinced me music that moving, played with so much emotion, needed to be heard by a larger audience.

In the end, I decided the best way to honor my sister would be to play her music for others, to give them a glimpse of this amazing person taken too early. And so one evening in November, just 8 months after she died, I poured out my soul, my hands on the violin. I forgot about the audience. I was totally enveloped in the music. She was there on the stage with me beaming as my hands flew up and down the strings. She was beside me as I received thunderous applause. She was there and that night, I was happy.”