I Wish There Was A Handbook
By Lauren Slattery
Photo by Anabel Russo
On one of my first days as a college freshman, I was asked in class to write a letter to somebody; it could be anyone I wanted, and it could be about whatever I wanted. I had complete freedom. This letter had absolutely no premise, and the idea was to just write. At that moment the only person I wanted to write to was my cousin because since being at college, everything had reminded me of him. The rock wall in the gym made me think of him, and I wanted to tell him. Five years since he had passed, and on that day it felt like it was just yesterday that he was here.
Everyday I lose my keys, and without fail when I do laundry, I usually lose a sock too. We deal with loss daily. It’s inevitable. The sun rises and sets and we lose a day. Some day you will wake up and you no longer have the ability to do a black flip on command anymore. The team you used to play on has moved on and isn’t missing your presence like you miss playing. Your dad can no longer throw you above his head, and your favorite pair of jeans don’t fit like they used to. Everyday we lose something, and everyday we learn to live without it. Whether it’s big or small, we learn to move on because we have to. We wake up one day and forget the last time we saw that blanket we used to love so much and question when the last time that flip was even a possibility for us. Though even after all that loss, nothing can ever compare to losing someone.
Nothing can prepare you for the moment when someone who has been on earth with you everyday of your life suddenly isn’t. Unlike losing objects or things, losing a life is something that leaves a permanent mark. Whether that’s maturity gained or a huge part of who you are missing, you change. Losing someone gives you something that you never asked for.
I was with my best friend when I got a call saying there was another suicide on campus, and I was sitting at my kitchen counter when someone posted about one of their friends who had passed on that day two years ago. I was just waking up when my aunt wished my cousin a happy heavenly birthday. I was living my life when all of these people were missing someone they had lost.
No one prepares you for what it is going to be like walking back onto campus after your school is hit with so much pain. There’s no guide on how to face your residence hall after it becomes a place students come to pay their respects. There’s no road map to follow for how to cope with knowing that a loved one won’t be at your graduation or your wedding. Soon you’re laughing and experiencing joy when suddenly you remember you're supposed to be sad, and it’s a weird feeling moving on, and I don’t think anyone knows how to do it.
I wish there was a handbook. One that clearly stated how to move on with the guilt I feel. One that knows when I am ready to hear, “It will get better” and then one that knows when to say, “This really does suck.” A handbook on how to not question why my freshman year turned out one way and someone else’s the other. I wish someone knew, and I wish they would tell me.
Nothing makes me qualified to talk about loss. I don’t have a degree or fancy letters before my name that command respect, but what I do know is that sharing your story makes people a little bit more willing to share theirs. So I hope you do because grieving is hard enough and doing it alone is even harder. I know for me that if it was not for the loss I have experienced and the growth I’ve faced in the midst of grief, I would not be here. I would not be at NC State reminding myself and everyone who is reading this that though there is unbelievable pain, there is so much joy. I wish I knew when the joy would come, but I don’t, but I do know that we have one another, and I think that’s the next best thing.
