The following is about losing my friend and colleague Claire, who I admired in too many ways to count. She was murdered in December of 2016, just before her 27th birthday. The space between then and this moment somehow feels both immense and minuscule.
I am learning to live with grief and (strange though it may seem) to embrace it; I don’t know if I’ll ever master this but I am dedicated to trying. I am grateful for the ways it makes my heart softer, for the ways it allows me to empathize with my students and teachers and colleagues and complete strangers. In Trade Winds Ensemble, being vulnerable is a required part of my work as an effective and emotionally aware teacher. As an artist, I am called upon to clearly and beautifully communicate ideas—sometimes these are complex, abstract, and painful. If I accept and embrace my own lived experience, I can learn to express myself more authentically and more deeply when I play. If I can share my story openly and honestly, it may help others heal, too.
Separation
by W.S. MerwinYour absence has gone through me
Like thread through a needle.
Everything I do is stitched with its color.
❧
If you are reading this, it will happen to you. I wish there were a gentler way to say it, but there’s kindness in honesty. You’ll lose someone (to death, or something else) who made you feel fiercely alive, someone whose presence and poise and personality made you pay attention to the HERE, the NOW, the THIS. It will be unfair in the cruelest ways. It will feel impossible and surreal when you find out she’s gone. That thing people say about time stopping and the room spinning around you, the instant shock and denial - it’s real.
Logically you know these are things that happen after trauma, but it’s immeasurably different when you feel these things in your skin, your blood, your body, your breath. Nothing prepares you for this. You’ve cried so much and so deeply that you feel hollowed out and raw, shaking. You will sob on the train, this I can guarantee. You will not care that strangers are staring. You will be so fucking grateful for your therapist. You’ll tell your therapist you struggle with guilt about your own grief, knowing others had forged deeper, closer connections with her. You’ll regret ever shying away from opportunities for closeness. You’ll hug friends more tightly, and hold them for longer than you ever have before. The friendships you have with people who knew and loved her like you did will mean more and more.
You may find music unbearably painful for days (weeks, months) because it touches you too deeply. You’ll practice and rehearse and perform; you must. You will let it split you open. You’ll feel the release of something much bigger and more true than anything you’ve known before. You will feel so alone, and so, so angry. She was brilliant in every single way someone can be brilliant. She was fighting for a better world for everyone, actively making it a kinder, truer, more brightly-colored place all the while.
You’ll laugh unexpectedly, remembering the bizarre-o dance moves you two made up on the night she convinced you to stay out dancing.
You will feel unexplained kinship with strangers. You’ll feel distant from loved ones sometimes, and it will hurt so much.
Nothing will make sense for a long time.
You might find yourself, years later, mourning in ways that still feel as deep and raw as the first days and weeks of grief. You might not realize right away that you are still mourning. (You may be in mourning forever.)
You’ll see her in the way the light gilds the rooftops and treetops in Italy, when you go to visit your sister there - you’ll remember her telling you about the trip to Italy she took with her sister, and everything you experience together will feel vivid and precious.
You might see a glint of sunlight through leaves, sudden and brilliant, and see her in it. You might see her in a gesture of everyday kindness or a glance of solidarity from across the train car. You might hear her in the sweet turn of a melodic line that leaves you momentarily stunned, breathless.
You’ll remember her, and every moment of remembering is bittersweet; every moment and memory is sliding you forward and further away from the days she lived, in fullest, brightest color.
You’ll find ways to honor her, and you’ll welcome the memories like mosaic fragments, the sharp-edged and smooth ones alike; the unremarkable, the brilliant, the mundane, the jewel-hued, the transparent and fading. Alongside those are the most unforgiving pieces; the fragments of mirrors that reflect your own face back to you, and ask the hardest questions: Did she know how much you cared for her? Why did she have to be killed? How can you honor her with your one life? Are you living fully? Are you finding ways to be kind? Can you be braver?
❧
Since 2016 I am grateful to have found many ways to continue healing. If you are grieving, I hope you’ll find this list helpful. It’s a collection of things (small things and bigger things) which keep me centered in times of chaos and uncertainty.
Taking time (even five minutes, ideally much longer) to sit quietly and breathe mindfully. Making this a habit has been so helpful. Often simply beginning to pay attention to my breath makes me breathe deeper and more fully.
Going to therapy. I’m so grateful that therapy is becoming more widely embraced and less stigmatized; finding a trusted and compatible therapist to work with has been essential for healing, and for maintaining good mental health.
Volunteering for and donating money to organizations doing beautiful work. PatronManager, the company where Claire and I met, worked with the Anti-Violence Project to establish a fund in her honor called the Claire Randall Fund for Education and Empowerment. This fund supports AVP’s programs and services, including delivering training, educational programming, and economic empowerment programming to LGBTQ and HIV-affected survivors of violence, including intimate partner (domestic) violence. It also feels right to volunteer for and support intersectional feminist causes and Trans-affirming organizations (like The Ruth Ellis Center, a partner organization to Trade Winds Ensemble).
Smelling Lavender. Claire loved lavender, and the smell always reminds me of her. (Less common loves she had were for anise-flavored things, black licorice, and grapefruit - those lovely things remind me of her, as well.)
Doing Yoga (specifically, Yoga With Adriene). I’m certain discovering Yoga With Adriene’s (free) at-home yoga videos changed my life for the better - I started exploring Adriene’s work in 2017, and have been so grateful for the reminders she gives to stay present and keep showing up for yourself. Maybe it’s because I encountered Adriene after losing Claire, but I have always seen something of Claire in Adriene; a disarming wit, total comfort with herself, and an uncanny ability to leave you feeling more confident after any amount of time spent with her.
Listening. I recently sent my sister this song, which Claire and her bandmates in Trot Fox wrote in 2016. I loved seeing her perform with Trot Fox in New York; so many people were enchanted by her voice and the band’s captivating creative energy onstage. It has taken me until this year to be able to listen to Sister Song without breaking down fully - I miss her voice so very much, and am so grateful for how she captured the idea of sisterhood, in all its indescribable beauty. (I am so grateful this particular performance of that song is here to revisit.)
Spending time with siblings and loved ones. Being present (really present) with the people I love is another way I heal; it may seem obvious but it can be easy to get overwhelmed with day-to-day worries and work. Remembering to schedule time with my loved ones and chosen family (even if it’s a phone call or FaceTime from thousands of miles away) is an essential ritual. I’d be nowhere without them.
Finding the nearest Botanic Garden; spending time around flowers. Being outdoors replenishes me when I am feeling drained or sad or unfocused. Even if I can’t make it to somewhere with winding pathways and blossom-filled corners to get lost in, finding a park or a backyard garden patch or a tree-lined street to walk along can feel wonderful, too. Claire loved lilacs, and that was a love we had in common. There was a lilac bush in the backyard of my childhood home, and I grew up loving those fragrant blossoms and eagerly awaited their arrival (sudden and sweet) every spring. We talked about lilacs, and now more than ever I love dedicating time at the Brooklyn Botanic Gardens or the Bronx Botanic Gardens in the spring to visit them. My love for Botanic Gardens extends to anywhere and everywhere in the world; a Claire-friend of mine and I have decided that they are all connected in spirit, like a giant continent-spanning constellation of greenery and blossoms for her.
Thank you for reading this. <3
