BY CONNOR GRAVER

In previous stories of my younger sister Lauren’s cancer diagnosis and eventual passing, I’ve used a metaphor I call Emotion Beach. Since she was born in December and would pass 10 years and 10 days later, just before Christmas, the entire month has double red flags posted warning of viciously choppy waves of emotion.

Almost as if it was foretold in a mental farmer’s almanac, right on time, December and this season brings an increased intensity and volume of my grieving thoughts. To be honest, it’s playing out right now as you read this. I’ve gone months without having an urge to write about these feelings, and suddenly a grief switch flipped, propelling me to write this piece.

I was in a therapy session earlier this year and was prompted with the question, how much weight does the grief of Lauren’s death carry?

I compared my grief to lava flowing from a volcano. In the immediate months and years, the lava was molten and completely volatile. The anger, depression, and numbness of loss were white hot and I burned myself and the relationships around me. During this stage, I developed a nasty habit of avoiding stressful emotions to a fault. My protection against the lava was burying negative emotions.

As time passed, the lava began to cool and set into place where it had spread. The coping habits I had developed were my default now, and I continued to avoid stressful emotions and bury negative ones. This behavior pattern would have consequences academically, professionally, and personally – things I’m still working to rebuild. However, the grief-stricken lava didn’t burn my finger to the touch anymore. I could bring up Lauren conversationally and feel joy, not sorrow.

Whatever negative emotion, habit or experience took place in the aftermath was forever frozen in place. Today, I must admit, my bad habits still exist. But now, perhaps because of time, therapy, or getting older and collecting more experiences, I now have the clarity to see them for what they are and actively try to counteract them. Grief has forced me to consider new realities and the uncomfortable truth that we are approaching the threshold of Lauren being gone for a longer amount of time than she was here.

My grief has changed. I can talk at length about the joy and kindness Lauren brought into the world just as much as a minute-by-minute run through of her final hours. My relationship to grief has shifted from being a burden to an appreciation and quiet respect for how far I’ve come in my journey. This is true for almost everything related to Lauren and her passing.

That ‘almost everything’ is the key though. One aspect that I’m certainly not at peace with is Lauren showing signs she is with me. We naturally cling to the idea that our deceased loved ones are at peace, free of any pain and watching protectively and lovingly over us. It’s a comforting thought and helps soothe the sting of relearning how to live life without them.

The thing is, I don’t believe I’ve ever had a sign from Lauren.

That’s not to say I don’t believe those who have passed can give us signs, I desperately want to believe that. I’m just of the mindset that I won’t believe it to my core until I see it and I simply don’t think I’ve seen it.

People around me seem to be getting signs from her. Her twin even encountered a medium at the grocery store. Most of the signs however seem directed at my mom. She has told me about hearing Lauren in her head and how Lauren provides one liners and quips about her day-to-day experience constantly. In the beginning, it would make me feel frustrated, and I worried my mom was struggling worse than I thought. That concern then turned to polite dismissal when she’d bring it up because whether it’s real or not, it’s a coping mechanism. Who am I to judge?

Like I said earlier, I have a propensity to avoid negative emotions. One form that takes is an intense skepticism about the afterlife. I take away literal interpretations of what I see. Lauren died in front of me so therefore she is not experiencing life as we know it and cannot interact with me.

​​I’m more likely to believe that Lauren being able to send me a message is an impossibility. I go back and forth on what I think she experiences right now, or even if she does. Maybe my skepticism is a coping mechanism, maybe it’s fear. I simply do not know the truth.

After exposure to the suffering that accompanies someone battling terminal illness and death, I’d like to think the afterlife is a reward to soothe that pain. A chance to connect with past souls, examine your lived experience and try again if you choose to do so. As a place that provides explanation and reason to the suffering that accompanies the unexplainable.

Maybe that’s why I haven’t seen anything yet. She’s too busy enjoying the warmth of something I can’t comprehend here in my body. Maybe it’s not that elaborate at all and she simply stopped existing. No pain, no feeling and no experience because she is nothing anymore.

It’s possible that by writing a story centered around my feelings about a lack of a sign from Lauren, that it will be the very thing that initiates a chain of events that leads to a powerful sign from Lauren. It’s also entirely possible the absence of a sign is the sign itself. 

And maybe the signs are not coincidental license plates or address numbers connected to her. Maybe she’s not controlling the radio, so it just happens to be her favorite Taylor Swift song (Mean).  Maybe we simply connect dots that do not really have a connection.

BUT what if there was never going to be a sensible sign because I am the sign itself. You are the sign too. The sign is employing the empathy, kindness, and grace she showed me and everyone she knew. The sign is going above and beyond for a stranger just because you can. If that’s the case, it’s been hiding in plain sight this entire time. I hope as you ride your own waves on Emotion Beach, you catch a sign that brings you solace and comfort for your person too.