What I Have Learned So Far, by Genevieve Whitcomb

I wish that I could write this personal narrative from a point of view that is inspiring and full of strength after getting through these past few months following Isabel’s death. But in all honesty I feel like those are the things I’ve been lacking most since she passed. Isabel’s death has changed me in ways that other people may never be able to see and in ways that I may never even be able to explain. I wish that I could write something strong, the way Isabel did and the way she would want me to. But I wouldn't do her justice and as I write this, having to think about things I have been keeping pushed aside, I have experienced some of my weakest moments, and felt far from strong. So I will write about what I know I have learned from Isabel’s death: I have learned how to love.  

   

There was a poem I read somewhere that said “What do you do when there’s nothing but pain left inside of you, and what if everything we were looking for existed only in our dreams, how do you explain something you don't even understand yourself.” I read these lines and have never felt like something described the way I feel so well. I don't really know how to explain the way Isabel’s death has changed me, because I don't fully understand it myself yet. I don't understand grief at all. The way it tears me apart some days, leaving me to feel like my bones are made out of pain and my mind made out of guilt. And other days it’s just there, watching from a distance, I can always feel it but it doesn't always make itself known. The part of that poem that resonated with me the most is the line that says, “what if everything we were looking for existed only in our dreams,” I often have a recurring dream about Isabel. It’s a simple dream. My family and I are together and all of a sudden, Isabel will just come back. I can never remember where we are and there’s never any discussion about where she has been, but every time I see her a feeling of extreme happiness rushes over me. This is a happiness that I have genuinely never felt before, a happiness that I didn't even know I was capable of feeling. It feels so real and as soon as I see her I run to her and hug her and tell her how much I love her over and over again. She always laughs it off wondering why I’m confessing my love to her, but I never stop telling her and I never let go, always terrified that if I do she might disappear and the dream will be over and she will be gone again. Every time I wake up from that dream the first thing I want to do is text Isabel and tell her that I love her and miss her. I think that says a lot. I think that this is what I have struggled with the most since Isabel’s death is not loving her enough while she was alive.

I often get stuck on thinking about how much I hate myself for not doing more to help Isabel, when I knew she was struggling. I ask myself over and over again why I didn't do more to make Isabel feel included, to make her feel loved and make sure she was okay. Why I didn't do more to be a better sister, a better person to her. If I could go back I would change everything. I know that Isabel had a mental illness, a chemical imbalance in her brain and that something as simple as love wouldn't have saved her. But I don't care. If I could I would go back and love her loudly every second. I would make her feel the love that I have always felt for her but never used to show. I would tell her how funny she was, because even the memories of her that I have still make me laugh. When she was younger she taught our dog Max how to shake with his left and right paws but accidentally taught him the wrong way. When my mom told her that she had mixed up her left and right she looked at our dog and said “Max, I have some bad news.”  I would tell her how smart she was, because even though she ended up having to take classes online and had more work than anyone could handle, she still graduated from high school. I would tell her how proud of her I am, for helping people and for fighting for what she believed in and what she was passionate about. For writing about her struggles when I couldn't even talk about mine. For staying strong for so long and for being a light in people’s lives when hers was often dark. But now, I take all the things I can’t do with Isabel and I use them. I use them to love others while I still can.

Thinking about all the things that have changed since Isabel’s death seems endless. My whole world seems different. All sorts of dynamics in my life are changed because of the absence of Isabel. Every day is filled with moments that I am forced to remember that Isabel is no longer here, that I can no longer text her when I see something funny or draw with her when I go home for breaks. But I realize that this is my new world. I realize that I have to accept that I will be living in a world without Isabel forever. I realize that I cannot be the person for Isabel that I wish I had been, but I can be that person for the people in my life now. I will use what I have learned from Isabel's life to help others and I will use what I have learned from Isabel's death to heal. I will love those around me the way I wish I had loved Isabel. I will care for my new friends and my old friends and make sure that they are okay, and if they aren’t, do what I can to help. I will always be aware of how my words and behavior are affecting the people around me. I will be kind to everyone, especially those who are not kind to me because if the years that Isabel and I did not always get along taught me anything, it is that sometimes the people who seem to be the least kind are the ones that are in desperate need of compassion and kindness. And most importantly I will carry on Isabel’s goal in life to stand up to the stigma surrounding mental illness.