A Short Reflection on Loss and Remembrance
It's December 2019, and I'm getting ready for my friends to come over for our annual breakfast-for-dinner party. It's a party my sister and I have hosted for six years, and it's one of my favorite times of the year. We call this event "The Big One." Each year, we circulate a google doc asking folks to bring breakfast items. Over the years, people became known for certain foods; Marlee with her waffle maker, Becca with her egg casserole, and Will with his bacon, specifically his bacon maker. At the end of this specific Big One, not knowing the pandemic would strike the following year, Will told me he thought it'd be his last Big One for his own reasons. I didn't believe him because I knew he'd come when the time came; he always did.
It's December 2020, and I'm home from my first quarter at Stanford. We're facing our first big Christmas wave of covid, making in-person gatherings tricky to host. I'm sitting on my couch reading Yaa Gyasi's Transcendent Kingdom, a deeply layered book about loss, depression, and the desire to make sense of it all. We follow Gifty and her family as they immigrate to the US south from Ghana. Her brother soon passes from a drug overdose, and her mother falls into a deep depression. I remember feeling Gifty's hardship and couldn't fathom a parent losing their child. I couldn't imagine losing such a presence in the family. I remember praying everyone around me stayed safe as long as possible. I know we can't live forever, but I'd do anything to extend our times together.
It's December 2021, and I'm home from getting ramen with my sister when in a choked voice, she tells me that our dear friend Will has passed away. She finds this out as she scrolls through Facebook, her face contorting into a frow of shock and disbelief. In my shock, I ask to see the post myself. My mind starts racing, asking a million questions because there was simply no way this was true; how could it be true? After reaching out to our friends, I sit with my thoughts, contemplating this loss, not just to the world but to his family. First, I remembered who he was to his family: a protective brother to his siblings, a loving son to his parents, and a sweetheart to his grandmother. Then I remembered the loss Gifty described in Transcendent Kingdom, which felt unimaginable. Finally, I found my sister and hugged her tightly, not letting go for what felt like an eternity.
It's December 2022, and I'm flying home from LA. It's been a year since we lost Will. This is the first year we're able to host The Big One again, and I spent the last few weeks avoiding planning it because it feels strange to know that Will was right — that was his last one. There've been so many times in the last year where I'm reminded of Will and I'm just taken out of the moment. It feels surreal at times. I've told myself to keep my memory of him close to me in everything I do, knowing how precious and fragile life is. On my website, you'll find a lil quote saying, "When there's a Will, there's Awoe." I finally went through planning the Big One, deciding to carve some space to remember Will.
It's December 2022, and I'm flying home from LA. It's been a year since we lost Will, and as we prepare to host The Big One again, I can't help but feel a mixture of excitement and sadness. On the one hand, I'm grateful to be able to gather with my friends again and share a meal. Yet, on the other hand, I can't help but feel a sense of emptiness knowing that Will won't be there with us. So, to honor his memory, I've decided to set aside a moment of silence to remember him. As I reflect on the past three years and all we've been through, I'm reminded of just how precious and fragile life is. I know Will would want us to make the most of every moment and cherish our time with those we love.
Thanks for reflecting with me this week. I pray for everyone's safety, health, and well-being as we enter the new year. As always, hit me up, and we'll talk. If you aren't subscribed to get this in your inbox weekly, you can here!
Best,
Awoe ✌🏾