Thahabu

My aunt died while I was away at school a few weeks ago, and I couldn’t go to the funeral because of an exam. I’m heartbroken over that. I don’t know why I think all my relatives will live forever. Maybe because we’re all so funny and vivacious; our spirits are infinite colorful light beams that go on and on. I thought we were immortal, until my uncle died a few years ago when I was a sophomore. I saw the pain in my grandmother’s face, the pain in my dad’s after losing his little brother to cancer. The person he probably used to sneak out with and tease had left the world before him. That was one of those humanizing moments for my dad. We see our parents as these know-everything gods who are unbreakable, but in that moment I saw him as man who lost his brother, someone who can recall fond memories but who now looks back on them with a twinge of pain.

Beyoncé dropped her new album Lemonade with a hour-long movie. During an interlude, before “Freedom” starts to play, you hear two women talking and one goes, “I’m sorry but I love the Lord.” I smiled because her voice sounded very similar to my recently deceased aunt’s. Then there are scenes that focus on dining room tables, which were so significant to me. My grandma’s dining room is something that is forever: A place where no matter what drama is going on in the family, we all come together to enjoy a meal and show love to my grandma, even if it feels like we don’t like each other. The whole family meets in that room. And meeting there with two fewer people seems frightening—something is out of place. Life really has these moments when it reminds us that this is all fleeting. Everything is going to come to an end and things can change in a second. Losing my mom at a young age taught me this, but lately, it has been magnifying my depression. I’m not feeling worse, just remembering that my depression really is a part of me and will be with me for the rest of my life. ♦