My youngest brother was battling a severe mental illness for the last year (or more). On August 26th, 2024, he passed away -- he took his own life -- his life ended -- he died. This is not easy to say, and I'm sorry to say it here, but it is where we are now.

This is the world I still live in, that my family will live in, until we too one day die. No one likes to remember this about our lives: they are shorter than we'd like. For some, far too short. Sam was 30 years old, turning 31 this December.

When I received the news, I was in shock, although this perhaps should not have been a surprise to me, given the context and the struggles that we had all been trying to help Sam with over the last few months especially. I have been undergoing a slow, intense process of change (matrescence) -- now, once again, I find my life has shifted into something completely new.

If you or someone you love is in crisis or experiencing mental health difficulties, please reach out for help:
Dial 988 or text HOME to 741741

I flew to California early the next morning, and spent the week with my parents and siblings. My first instincts were to write about Sam, to gather and curate photos, and to put together a fundraiser for unexpected funeral expenses. This project gave me a deeply needed sense of grounding through storytelling and community, and helped start the process of acceptance. I am so grateful to everyone who supported me and my family during this process by sharing photos and memories and helping us raise the funds we needed, and to make memorial contributions to the causes he loved and volunteered for.

https://everloved.com/life-of/samuel-fry

My daughter turned two this week. We held her birthday party as planned, in the neighborhood toddler park. I learned:

• never make a balloon arch

• you don't need a park permit or reservation for fewer than 20 people

• kids love cupcakes

• it's very hard to plan a funeral and a birthday party at the same time.

Oh, yeah, the final semester of my MFA also kicked off this weekend with an online "intensive." I miss being at CIIS in San Francisco in person with my classmates, but I was so grateful this semester was planned online instead. In addition to my final semester of MFA Project, I am delighted to be taking Pedagogy with George Reyes.

My mom and my sister came to visit and stayed in a hotel nearby. This was planned in advance to celebrate Nova's birthday.

The hotel had an indoor pool and hot tub, which was the bees' knees, although I forgot to bring the life jacket and Nova almost gave me a heart attack by running too much, trying repeatedly to leap into the deep end (she really has no fear and believes she can swim), and insisting on hanging out too long in the hot tub. But who can blame her?

I went to a collage meetup for the Northwest Collage Society, right down the street at the Kirkland Arts Center. It was very healing, and sparked a lovely conversation with their new executive director and their volunteer partner about volunteering in their gallery, and hosting Community Art Nights/Artists' Guild meetups at the space.

Planning Sam's memorial service, including curating the tribute video out of 250 photographs and clips, working with the Life Celebrant on the service order, coordinating with the funeral home, writing a eulogy, and gathering decorative posters, books, art materials, and planning "open space" stations for attendees to interact with (including a mental health resources table).

I was so grateful to spend time with my family this weekend, and to be able to set up the service for Sam, along with my sister and other family members.

It was a beautiful service, full of flowers, light, laughter -- befitting my youngest brother, who was the light of the family, and the most absurdly funny person I've ever met. His friends came from far and wide, including those I remember from his childhood. My friends who knew him from way back when were there too, and I was overwhelmed by the love and support that surrounded us that night.

Somehow, against all odds, life goes on. After the service I felt shaky, then numb, then a sort of flooding back into my body.

I spent time at a spa with my mother, going back and forth from the hot pools to the cold plunge, the steam sauna, the cool air outside. I spent time with my best friend from middle school and her three-year-old; I had a drink with my ex-spouse from 20 years ago. I went to brunch with my mom's cousin (whom we always called "Aunt Jane"), whom I haven't seen in decades. I played games with my young nephew, and talked late into the night with my elderly stepfather.

When I returned home, I started the new process of living, again, still. The week was a busy one: getting caught up on work, and school; my husband and I celebrated our third wedding anniversary; then we celebrated his birthday. I am in awe of those I love: family, friends, community; myself. As always, I am left with more questions than answers.

If matrescence is becoming a mother, what is the word for losing a loved one? When we love someone else so deeply, are we one person, or two people, or more?