One Year Later

I can't believe it's been a year.

As I woke up on August 2, 2015, I became informed that one of my classmates, Stephany Villegas, had died the night before in a car accident. I felt confused, sympathetic, and deeply saddened by the news. It was kind of hard for me to process what had happened.

"How could she just be... gone?" was the question I kept asking myself. This girl that I sat behind in my Spanish class was dead, and I would never see her again.

In my life, I haven't had too many direct experiences with death. I mean, all four of my grandparents have passed away and I have known a few other people in my life that have died, but I consider myself very much spared from a lot of the pain that death brings. And so Stephany's passing was hard. It came out of nowhere and I didn't really understand how it had happened or how to react to it.

But what made it harder was the fact that she was so close to me in age. One of the things that made my previous experiences with death more bearable was the justification that the person had lived a full life and experienced the things they wanted to.

But for Stephany, this wasn't true. She hadn't lived a full life, she had gotten robbed of one. She had so much potential and none of that would ever be realized. And so that was the hardest part for me. This beautiful girl didn't even get to live to see our graduation, let alone achieve the dreams that I know she had.

And so a flood of sadness and confusion came over me. To be clear: I won't claim that Stephany and I were close in any significant way. But we knew each other in passing, and she was always incredibly kind to me. So although we weren't best friends, I will still always cherish her friendly attitude and her loving memory, even if my experiences with her were few. And her death still stings, even a year later. But I learned a few things from this experience, and so I would like to share those things here.

You are loved more than you know.

Although the whole situation was incredibly sad, I found a small glimmer of light amidst all the heartache. The sheer number of people that paid tribute to Stephany in one way or another was absolutely astounding. It became clear to me that Stephany had touched the lives of many, and that she was loved by all.

And maybe I'm taking an unfair liberty here, but I don't think that Stephany really realized just how much she meant to so many people. Of course, I can't know what she knew. But I'm willing to bet that she would have been surprised at the outpouring of love that she received after she passed.

And so I believe that this is how it is with any of us. I think that the impressions that we leave on others can bring us together in a powerful, albeit an often silent way. And that's important.

In truth, I don't think Stephany's death made people love her, but it made them realize how much they did.

So if you're ever feeling like people don't love you, just remember that there are so many who do. Just because you don't know about them doesn't mean they're not there. And I hope you never forget that.

Keeping things to yourself isn't a great idea, but it doesn't make you fake.

(This one is pretty connected to the first one)

When I was younger (say 12, 13 years old), I often wondered how many people would attend my funeral if I died that day. A twisted thought, I know, but it enticed me nonetheless. I imagined there would be a large amount of people there, but I felt like there shouldn't be, as if the only people who "deserved" to be at my funeral were the people who were especially close to me in my life. My thinking was this: wouldn't coming to my funeral if we weren't close in life be a little fake? Wouldn't pretending to love me when I was gone but not caring about me when I was alive be disrespectful?

What I learned from Stephany's death is that this idea is entirely wrong. I learned that people don't go to funerals to look good, or to pretend to care about the deceased, or for any other reason besides showing love, respect, and kindness to the person who has passed and the family of such. My shallow preteen mind had supposed that if people don't tell you they love you, then they don't, and that you don't mean anything to them. But (like I expressed in the first thing I learned from Stephany's passing) you mean more to people than you really realize.

When I stepped into the Redwood Mortuary last year as I attended Stephany's funeral, I knew that every. single. person. there was there because Stephany meant something to them and that they wanted to show their love and support and pay their respects to her family. And so maybe some of these people weren't especially close to Stephany, or at least didn't often tell her what she meant to them. But that doesn't mean they were "fake" in any way.

And so the painful irony is that Stephany didn't get to be there as everyone told her how much they loved her for the final time. But those feelings were just as real when she was alive, just less out in the open.

So if you're going to take anything from here, take this: always, always, always let people know that you love them. Please. Don't hide your love until it's too late.

Life isn't fair. Death isn't either.

One of the most painful parts of everything was when I heard Stephany's little sister speak at her funeral. She said that she had just wished she had told Stephany to put her seat belt on, and she felt so guilty for not doing so. And it hurt me so much. I couldn't help but think about how much it must hurt to lose a sibling, especially like that.

That's not fair.

It's not fair that such a sweet little girl could feel responsible for such a tragedy. It's not fair that her parents could lose a child who was barely old enough to drive. It's not fair that Stephany never got the chance to get married or have kids or travel the world.

And so I came to understand that just like life will beat you and break you until you can't take it anymore, death is similarly unjust. Stephany was such a nice person and didn't deserve what she got. Her family and her friends didn't deserve the pain of her passing.

But it happened anyway.

But it didn't happen because someone deserved it. I can't tell you why Stephany died that night. But I can tell you that sometimes death comes and takes the best people because death doesn't care about character. And so maybe in a sad way, life and death are fair simply because they aren't fair to anyone.

What a sick kind of justice.

No one is immortal, but that's no reason to stop living.

The most powerful lesson I learned from Stephany's passing is that life is so incredibly fragile. Life can end in the smallest moment, and it can happen to anyone. And I honestly think that's kind of scary.

It's so crazy that anyone can be taken in an instant.

And it made me realize that maybe I should be a little more careful. Not only in the choices I make and what I do, but also in how I treat people. I can't even imagine how I would feel if I lost someone to the cruel pain that death is, knowing that I had treated them poorly the last time I saw them.

Our mortality makes us vulnerable. And it makes us cautious. But what it should not make us is afraid. We should not be afraid to live for the threat that death is.

I guess maybe those last two paragraphs sound contradictory. What I'm trying to say is that life is delicate, and we should be careful and kind, but we should also be willing to use this life to really live. I learned that some people get taken before they have the chance to live their dreams, so we shouldn't waste our precious time doing anything besides living ours. I hope that makes sense.

Sometimes, the best comfort you can offer is a kind word and a warm hug. And that's enough.

Death hurts. And nothing can truly alleviate that pain or repair the hole that death brings. But kindness always helps.

At Stephany's funeral, there were so many peope that got up and offered the sweetest words about her. And of course, their words couldn't bring Stephany back. But the small comfort that those words brought to those grieving some small peace, if even for a moment. I witnessed firsthand how much those small tributes meant to Stephany's family.

What's important to note is that the source of the kind words is not especially important. The level of love and appreciation didn't depend on who offered the compliments. Some groups that weren't even connected to Stephany reached out simply because they knew that their voice meant something (specifically: other schools offering their condolences to West Jordan for losing one of their own).

Never underestimate how much your kindness means to others. If giving a sweet smile and a simple act is all you can do, DO IT.

Let the tears flow.

Finally, I learned that life hurts sometimes. Stephany's passing was hard for everyone that knew her, and I know that it will continue to be hard. I know that there are so many people that miss her. I know I do. So if the tears come, let them. And keep Stephany's legacy of incessant kindheartedness and love alive.

Because that might be the best way to keep her alive.

To end, I include here a brief poem, printed on the back of the programs at Stephany's funeral.

"If tears could build a stairwell

and memories were a lane,

I would walk right up to Heaven

and bring you home again.

It broke our hearts to lose you,

but you did not go alone,

a part of us went with you,

the day God called you home.

No farewell words were spoken,

No time to say good-bye...

You were gone before I knew it,

and only God knows why.

My heart still aches in sadness

and many tears still flow,

what it means to lose you

No one will ever know."

We love you, Steph. I hope you're having fun in paradise.