Her Love is Innocent

While grief may not be a gift by nature, I would consider it a lesson for life. I did not understand how other people seemed to recover after a death. I saw grief as the most difficult mountain someone could ever face. An impossible climb up a mountain with no clear path to the summit, where the air grows thinner with each step and the weight of loss makes every movement feel like walking through quicksand.

Until I lost my aunt, I wasn’t familiar with grief. What happened to people who have lost others? She died in 2021, and with her passing my world shifted in ways I never anticipated. At first I was just mad. Mad at myself for missing her funeral. Mad at God for taking her away. Mad at her because she broke the many promises we made together. She broke her promise to come to my graduation and to do my hair like she usually does. I missed those afternoons when she would braid and twist my hair while we talked about everything and anything. In just one second, everything crumbled right under my eyes. She was gone, and there was no way for me to get her back. It took me a while to realize that she was really gone and that I needed to figure out how to move on in life without her.

Tatie wasn’t just family; she was my best friend, my second mother and my biggest cheerleader. She had this way of making the smallest and most ordinary moments feel special. When I was younger, she would pick me up from school and bring my favorite food with her. She was a good listener and comforted me. She made me feel special, the kind of attention that made me feel like the most important person in the world. Her love was the most innocent, pure, free from judgments and unconditional. She loved through all of the versions of myself. The loss of such a love is what made her loss so devastating and her memory so precious.

I had to learn forgiveness, a process more complex than one would think. Forgiveness they say is not just for the other person but also for you. Forgiveness for myself and forgiveness for her love. The anger I felt was grief in disguise. Forgiving myself meant accepting that her being gone doesn’t mean that her love disappeared. Forgiving her means understanding that she did not choose to leave, that she didn’t want to break those promises, and wouldn’t have if she had a choice.

Death is not betrayal but part of the human life cycle.

She might not be able to see me graduate, take tons of pictures and fuss over my cap and gown like she would have, but I know she is proud of me no matter where she is. She is no longer with me, but I will never forget her. On graduation day, she was there, in the morning sun, in the unexpected calm I felt walking across the stage. I heard her voice telling me I could accomplish anything I set my mind to. She is no longer here physically, but I will always have her with me, carrying her in my heart. Her laugh echoes in my mind when I need encouragement. Her advice guides me through difficult decisions. Her unconditional love reminds me how to love others with the same innocent acceptance.

I realize we all face mountains sometimes, but it is the way we climb them that matters. Some mountains require patience, others demand courage and bravery. Grief has taught me that not every mountain has to be conquered. I learned to appreciate life and my community more because nothing lasts forever. Only memories matter in the end. The people around us and the small moments we take for granted.

I don't know how I am going to react to future obstacles. I don’t know when they will happen and whether or not I will fall into the same despair I did because grief is unpredictable. What I do know is that it will be painful. It will not be easy. It is not supposed to be easy, but I know now I can turn the pain inside me into strength to face the future. Tatie’s love did not die with her; it lives on in me, teaching me that love is the most powerful force we have for healing and strength.

(Djemima Duvernat will be the Literary/Personal Essay Editor next semester)