Discovering Delilah(46)

I think it’s a cruel and unnecessary question. Of course they’re feeling sad and angry. Why does she want them to reiterate it? I glance at Janessa, wondering if she’s thinking the same thing, but she’s looking at them expectantly as well.

“At first I was happy for them. That they get to see their daughter go off to college. Then it made me upset, of course,” Cathy explains. “And then I was just angry. I was mad that they’d bring that up when they knew we lost Mara.” Tears stream down her cheeks, and Mark pulls her against him and whispers something, then kisses her temple.

“That’s perfectly understandable, Cathy. And I think you know what I’m going to say next.” Meredith pauses as her words settle in.

I don’t know what she’s going to say. I shift in my seat, uncomfortable with the sadness in the room.

Cathy nods. Mark nods. Janessa and Michael nod, and I feel lost.

“You lost your daughter, and that’s a horrific loss for you and Mark.”

“Yes,” Cathy agrees, patting her tears with a tissue. “And if I could have been the one who was sick, I would have. I would have died twice over to save Mara.”

Mark pulls her closer, his own eyes tearing now.

“I know you would have. But the world is full of families who didn’t lose their children.” Meredith pauses again.

My stomach clenches. Just like after my parents died. I couldn’t understand how the whole world functioned normally around me when everything I knew had been turned upside down.

Cathy and Mark nod.

“Remember when we talked about finding ways to accept our losses so we can move forward? That’s not an easy thing to do. For some people it means avoiding certain friends from before they lost their loved ones. Others choose to talk to their friends and let them know the topics that are still too raw to deal with. Sometimes friends will shy away, and that’s another type of loss that isn’t easy to get past.” Meredith wrinkles her brow.

“Meredith, may I say something?” Janessa asks.

I’m surprised. She rarely contributes.

“Yes, please.” Meredith nods.

“When I lost my older sister, I was pretty young. For the longest time, I held on to the grief. I thought that if I didn’t, I would forget her, or let her down. And she had always been there for me, so even though she was gone, I didn’t want to let her down.”

I reach for Janessa’s hand and squeeze it. I knew she’d lost a family member, but I didn’t realize it was her older sister. How could I not have asked? I’ve been so closed off, worrying about my own grief, my own sexuality, that I never opened my eyes long enough to offer support to her. I’ve been a terrible friend.

Janessa covers my hand with hers and manages to smile at me before turning back to Mark and Cathy and continuing her story. “One day my mom told me that I was focusing on losing her and forgetting all the good times we had. She said that I was putting an unfair burden on my sister. At first I didn’t understand that. I was a teenager when she committed suicide, and I didn’t feel like I was putting a burden on her.”

My stomach careens south. Suicide? Oh, Janessa. I’m so sorry.

“It took a while for me to understand what she meant. I was so focused on not forgetting her that she became a legacy of pain instead of being remembered as the supportive, fun, loving big sister that she was.” Janessa takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly. “It’s been years since she died, and the loss is still there. Sort of like a scar. Every once in a while I get a wave of sadness, but I’ve learned to move past it by drawing on the good memories. I can’t exactly keep myself from being friends with anyone who might mention their sister.” She pauses for a moment.

“I realized that by trying to hold on to that pain, I was trying to please my sister. My mom was right.” Janessa shakes her head. “It sounds strange, but I thought that if I kept that pain, I’d make up for the reasons she killed herself. It wasn’t until recently that I realized I could learn from her death and help other people in her situation not feel so alone.”

“That’s a big discovery, and it’s also a common coping mechanism. Using your grief to help others can be cathartic,” Meredith says.

“Like you do.” The words come without thought. Meredith lost her husband ten years ago, and I know she’s been running these meetings for the past few years.

“Yes, like I do.” Meredith smiles at me.

“My thoughts are no longer centered on how unfair it is that I lost my sister.” Janessa pulls her shoulders back and releases my hand. “I realized how hurtful those thoughts were. Now when I’m confronted with similar situations, I draw upon the good memories, and it’s like…Yeah, I had a sister. She was funny and protective, and sometimes she was a big pain in the butt. And she loved green ice cream. Any flavor as long as it was green.” Janessa smiles. “It feels good to remember the good times.”