Beautiful Girl

When she passed, I didn't know how to cope.

It was supposed to be the beginning for her.

I wasn't being avoidant, I wasn't sobbing, I wasn't angry, I was just...still. I wanted to understand every little detail as to how it could happen, but the answer wasn't good enough; I'm sure it wasn't good enough for anyone. "There's life and death," they say, "and we don't always get an explanation."

This was one of those cases. Sometimes, babies die.

And as scary and big of a statement as that is to say aloud, it's true. Factual. Such a statement can still all of the above: big and scary and true. Which was another thing that I was having trouble wrapping my head around.

Guilt came next. Why should I be the one to be upset? Doesn't their family have it worse? I was mourning the potential relationship I was going to have with a family member that was 20 years younger than me and it infuriated me even more to think about the relationship that their family couldn't have. The guilt made me feel like I was taking something away from them. That I was being selfish.

But in reality, knowing the people around you care deeply about the one who is gone can also help them grieve. Maybe that's not the case for everyone, but it was for them. It took some time to understand this concept. To share stories and feelings instead of hiding them. I've learned quite a bit since then.

***

Writing also helps. For a lot of people and for a lot of reasons. I always wrote to address my feelings in any given moment. It's usually easier than saying it aloud. Sometimes I don't even understand where a feeling is coming from until I write.

I always had an itch for a specific form of writing: songwriting. I wanted to try it but was too scared. Scared that I wouldn't be able to write once a song came around, that the words wouldn't flow. Scared that it would be an embarrassing song, one that people would laugh at.

But there are hundreds of my short stories and ideas that never see the light of day. I don't have to share it in order to write it. It's not conditional and not much different than poetry. Maybe the words were already within.

And so, I took to the piano. Well...keyboard-which I wasn't very good at. To be honest, I'm still not. But still, I sat down and tried.

I came up with a sequence of 6 notes that sounded nice to my ear. I repeated them over and over again. Humming soon turned into words.

Beautiful girl

Too good for this world

I've never seen

Anything more pure.

Looking out my window,

I see a mourning dove

With Delicate wings,

Sitting so still,

It reminds me of the song we loved.

Now those wings

Look a lot like yours.

I love you more and more

Each day for a thousand years.

But it's okay

To fly away.

I didn't judge the words or the melody, I just let myself live it. I thought of how our grandfather would've taught her about mourning doves, like he taught me, I thought of how the beauty of her memory exists, and how this loss should be felt. Not in a particular way, but that it should simply, feel.

I'd like to believe that her little light exists elsewhere. That this song became could be a comforting lullaby floating in the distance. The near distance.

But I never shared this song. That is, until now.

I didn't need to.

It was for me, and her, and the sky.

***

I wouldn't say I continued this songwriting journey. I try it from time to time but it never stuck.

The thing is, I didn't need it to stick. I just needed to try.