A eulogy (from εὐλογία, eulogia, Classical Greek for “praise”) is a speech or writing in praise of a person(s) or thing(s), especially one who recently died or retired or as a term of endearment.
In this suffering, this divorce, this new death, there are people who have been my sky, sun, and my breath when I couldn’t breathe. This eulogy isn’t about the loss of my marriage, but of the people who are saving me from letting go of life.
Eulogy 2 is for my sister.
I left to see my sister after my husband told me he wanted a divorce. I truly lost my mind when I arrived. I cried every day. I hurt. My body was twisted and I could barely breathe. I wouldn’t change my clothes. I sometimes showered. I could not eat. There was no life in me. I fought reality and my thoughts were dark and cruel.
My present was the past and I chose relive the painful moments again and again. I could see that my madness was affecting my sister, but she is persistent and she fought for me when I could not.
She created a space for me to simply be at my worst. She had compassion for me when I hated myself. She was trying to show me how to be strong and to have courage. She is my biggest fan. Just as she used to create make believe worlds for me to play in as a child, she believes that there are chapters in my life where happiness awaits and she hopes that I can see what she continues to imagine for me.
My sister is brilliant. A gifted gift. And she misplaces everything. Like her glasses. She is talented and throws herself into life. She commits her soul into everything, she pours her love into the things she treasures and will fight for her dearest possessions. She is fearless and fights in spite of fear.
She and I communicate in different ways but she is thoughtful and always problem solving, giving me useful suggestions all the time. She is my search engine and can find an article or information about anything.
Her hair is sometimes messy and sometimes she wears fanny packs over bulky sweaters. She does not care how people see her. And even when her hair looks like a birds nest, she is beautiful and she is bold. She is made of hard strokes with soft delicate lines. She has dark eyes and she has this intensity in her gaze, even from when she was young.
She is aloof to some things and completely absorbed in others. I was having a panic attack at her kitchen table and told her I couldn’t breathe. She sat down by me and while she was asking me if I was okay, she pulled a bag of pickle flavored potato chips towards her and started munching on them. I stared at her as she continued to pull more chips into her mouth and the crunching was so loud. And then I started to laugh and that’s when I started to relax and breathe again. She does these little things that bring me laughter and joy and is completely unaware how profoundly lovable she is.
She teaches me and reminds me to be open up and let go. She teaches me to live life in love and to stop fucking caring about the things that stop caring about you. She is courage, my strength, and she is my armor.