Something quite terrible has happened.
For the past two weeks, I’ve been e-mailed nearly 10 obituaries, stories of candle light vigils, and prayer groups.
Somewhere, Alyssa Martino has died. Google alerts has certainly made me aware of this. And the other Alyssa–she was 19-years-old.
For days, I’m too frightened to read the news. I stare into space, wondering about her life, her loved ones. Does her soccer team miss her strong, purposeful penalty kicks? Does her chemistry class miss her straight A’s that throw off the curve? Do her parents eat dinner alone? Has her brother been absent from school?
For the past 3 months, I’ve been, for lack of better word, spooked. In April, I watched my grandmother purse her lips and take a last breath.
I panic on planes. I can’t sit still. I fidget at work. At home. In the car. On the phone.
And yet, I can’t write it. I can’t say it aloud.
I sign into WordPress to check google analytics. My bounce rate is up to 97%. I’m confused. Then I see it:
Top Searches
- alyssa martino - 106 Visits
- alyssa martino death - 65 Visits
- alyssa martino died - 25 Visits
- death of alyssa martino - 14 Visits
- alyssa martino dies - 8 Visits
People are searching for death, and finding me–a living, breathing 23-year-old–instead. And then, disappointed, they click away. They move on, probably thinking, “Oh, that Alyssa is very much alive. We’re not interested in her.”
But I’ve known grief. And if grief leads you here, feel free to stop and stay a while.
And to the other Alyssa, thank you for reminding me again, how precious life is. I am thinking of you and your family often.
*
For Alyssa
The color of your hair,
your eyes;
the shape of your nose,
your ears,
your body–lanky or lean;
the sound of your laugh,
your whimper,
your whisper,
I do not know.
If you are a poet,
an artist,
a math wiz,
a beautician,
a yogi,
a cook,
an actress.
If you are a best friend,
an auntie,
a niece,
or a grandaughter.
If you dream of white sand or
timbuktu
or snow angels.
If you’re ambidextrous.
If you love snickers bars or mexican food.
If you’ve ever felt
the heavyness of another
body on yours.
If you’ve lived.
{ 10 comments… read them below or add one }
This post gave me the chills. Thinking about the other Alyssa now.
Thanks, Alexis. It’s oddly comforting to think that complete strangers will carry on your memory through happenstance, no?
Writing it gave me chills too. Reading back too…
wow .. Lys .. beautiful! .. and appreciating our ‘alyssa martino’ even more.
I think this will really mean a lot to some people out there. Chilling, but incredibly thoughtful.
Thanks Toby!
Thank you Simone…I’m glad you think so.
Alyssa, I am Alyssa’s grandmother. This was a lovely tribute to her. She was only 19 and the most beautiful person, inside and outside. She had the greatest smile, she was full of fun. Her family is devastated. She has a sister 13 months younger who is inconsolable, as are her parents and brother. You would have loved knowing her.
Thank you again for your words.
Cathy,
I’m not quite sure what to say. I hope that my post, in some strange way, gave you a sense of hope and comfort in the fact that Alyssa will live on not only through the many people who knew and loved her, but those who didn’t, and were still touched by her story and wished they could have. I am so sorry for your loss, and hope you’ll send my best to the rest of your family-especially her sister. I lost my own grandmother this past spring and again, in a weird way, feel like maybe you were meant to read this to show me the cyclical value of life, even when grief is so strong. I’m not sure if that makes much sense out loud. But hearing from you really means more than you know to me and I think I will remember this experience forever. Thank you for your words…
Alyssa- beautifully written. This piece, including the comments, had quite an impact on me. You are a talented writer who can touch our souls with your caring and thoughtful words. I’m glad that the family of the “other” Alyssa can find some peace and comfort through you.
Thank you, Joanne!