Exactly eight years and two weeks ago, the ground fell away beneath me. My mom died, suddenly, after a long struggle with melanoma. I was a confused and lazy 16 year old, fishing with my dad in Alaska, when my mom's youngest sister called me some time before and said I needed to come home. Naive to the gravity of the call, I flew back to Snohomish, Washington, dulled and dreamlike.
I came home to a sad place. When I left Washington, my mom was limping from lymph surgery but lively. When I came back, she was barely able to speak, move, or feed herself. A smell of death permeated the air around her. She slowly lost her mind to the cancer and medication, hallucinating sometimes, screaming and struggling others. I don't remember how long I was in Snohomish, but it seemed like an eternity. I cried for hours everyday. One morning, the same sister woke me up and told me she had died in the night.
I had time alone with her in her room. She was dressed in black, frail and still on her bed. I looked at her hand. I could not bring myself to touch her. I do not remember much else of that summer. I had no tools no process the event, and was unable to articulate my feelings to others. I fell into myself. I was lost.
Two years later I barely graduated high school. Two years after that I left college. I made poor decisions and I hurt people, for which I will always carry a burden of regret.
Working as a barista in Seattle, I rebuilt myself, a piece at a time, learning from my mistakes, and slowly put my feet back under me. I went to school again at community college, where I relearned how to focus and seek knowledge. I found meaning and passion again. I transferred to Skidmore College as a second semester sophomore after a little over a year of living in Seattle. The rebuilding continued. I chose to study anthropology to because I wanted to better understand humans and myself. I reforged my athleticism that I worked so hard at in high school. I studied in a monastery for a semester, where I explored India, Buddhist philosophy, and my mind. I view this as the culmination of my college experience.
Now, six years after high school, I graduated with a Bachelor of Arts in Anthropology from Skidmore College. This was made possible by my friends and family who believed in me when I truly did not believe in myself. I have moved from the deepest sadness to feeling more peace and seeing more beauty than I thought was possible. I am filled with humility, excitement, and gratitude. Thank you all. Let the adventure begin.
(Photo-Nina Linn)