3 Reasons Why 2019 Was Worse Than 2020

Dorothy. Shovondia. Clairmil.

Three names that may mean nothing to you but everything to me. Three loved ones, gone — one by one — in just three months of 2019. Three losses that sent me into a mental fog for nearly three years.

DOROTHY

Dorothy battled Alzheimer's for almost a decade. We knew she didn't have long, but she fought for every single day she had left. That was just who she was. A fighter. Even as the disease chipped away at her memories, she held on, refusing to let go.

Until she couldn't anymore. She went first.

VON

I called Von a couple days after — an excuse to talk after our disagreement in December. That short conversation would be our last.

Losing her shattered me.

Von was my built-in best friend — solid as a rock, strong like Superman, unshakable like an ox. She wasn't supposed to leave. She wasn't supposed to leave. She wasn't supposed to leave.

Shock. Loss. Confusion. Shock again.

Waves of emotions that never ceased. Waves upon waves, crashing over me before I even had the chance to catch my breath.

After two weeks, the world moves on. People stop checking in. They stop asking how you're doing. Maybe they don't want to remind you. Maybe they don't know what to say. Maybe they think grief has an expiration date.

It doesn't. It lingers. It latches onto you.

CLAIRMIL

Clairmil never forgot.

Our last conversation happened unintentionally at the same time Von and I always spoke — Friday at 4:30 p.m. I wasn't okay. I didn't want to talk — to him or anyone. I wanted the weekend to start so I could escape. But big bro knew my heart. He knew the one thing that would get me to engage: a conversation about investing for his family.

That was the last time we spoke.

Then he was gone shortly after.

This time, I wasn't even able to feel the pain. I was numb.

I remember squinting my eyes, repeating What!? over and over again, as if saying it enough times would make it untrue. As if the words themselves would somehow undo reality. Even now, I still shake my head in disbelief.

Clairmil nor his family got the grief they deserved from me. Because every time I thought of him, I thought of Von, then I thought of Grams. I thought of loss. And when grief stacks like that, it doesn't just get heavy — it buries you.

SURVIVING ON SAFE MODE

I needed safety.

I became a hermit. I disappeared into myself. I stayed that way for years — like a computer in safe mode: functional, but not really. Moving through life, but not living it. Numb. Empty. Never present. Searching for a way out of every conversation because all I wanted to do was be alone.

Depressed? Yes. Hurt? Yes. But more than that, I was mourning.

I was sad. I was lost. I was confused.

Not questioning God. Never asking why. But deeply, deeply confused.

THEN CAME COVID

An excuse to isolate. To hide. To shut down. An excuse for unintentional space and distance.

COVID gave me that — but it also gave me a series of blows: a bad move, a terrible job, a toxic boss, two failed relationships.

Then came peace. Finally — peace.

A new job. A new home. A return to myself. Self-love. Therapy. Therapy. Therapy.

Not just surviving. THRIVING.
Not just getting by. TRANSFORMING.
Not just existing. LIVING.