Trying too Hard, too Late?

For the rest of our lives, those of us who were part of Hannah's life will try to make up for it somehow:  to be a better parent, a better brother, for those who harmed her to be more "woke" after her death. 

It's the not trying, or ineptly, solypsistically, publicly calling attention to how much one is trying that ... hurts like the devil to be near.

My father wrote an article for an online magazine.  In it, he talks about women swimmers, and how 'his realities were changed' the first time he was beaten by a woman when he was swimming, and goes on to talk about woman swimmers.

Something that I have learned from Hannah is to hold space for other voices. In the case of what my father wrote, it's a problem for me, because he's an old white man talking about himself in reference to women, acting as though he is speaking in deference to women, but elevating himself in "woke" context. 

I don't have all the right answers, I know, but learn to stop. Give opportunity to other voices, encourage them without trying to tell them about your own  experiences. Listen without planning your next sentence, your next commiseration. Listen without judgement and hear what is being said, how it is being said.

I am guilty of it, and Hannah let me know. Probably she didn't call me out every time.  Her brilliance and creativity, her depression and torment, were hers.  To poke at it until I figure out how to dismantle it and make it make sense will never happen. The IF will haunt me until the end of my life, the shockwave of realizing she is gone will never completely go away. To find peace is accepting. Accepting we will never see her dance again. Accepting she will never  sing again. Accepting the silent guitar, the hardening paint, the pink dresses and combat boots that she wore, the leaves and flowers and photos and projects that she will never create. The lessons she could have taught children, her friends, her family, me.

A seed is planted in me to try to be better, to reach the next one, to learn the important things.

It has been 338 days since daughter, sister, friend, teacher left this earth.

 I love you, Hannah.