A Birthday Celebration
Over two weeks ago I lost my cousin Kaya. She was my age and pregnant with her first child, my godchild. Today is her birthday and in the 19 days since she passed, I’ve experienced unimaginable grief. It comes and goes and often times it manifests in ways that go beyond crying and simply being sad. Yet, at many moments I’ve attempted to celebrate my cousin because I know that even when sad she still had a joyous presence. Her smile and laugh was infectious. So today on her 27th birthday, I am celebrating her by sharing with the world who she was to me.
Last week at her home going/funeral, I said a few words to the church about my cousin and how she was truly one of my first friends in life. Now that my family heard my words, I will share them with you all. So that when someone asks me to tell them about Kaya, I can reference this. Sometimes it’s hard to speak about her without feeling speechless, my grief still caught in my throat, but by sharing this you all know who Kaya was and still is to me:
In the days since Kaya passed, time has ceased to exist. I am engulfed by the grief and utter devastation that consumes each day, hour, and minute. I mourn our shared childhood and I cry about the child that I never got to see her hold. I cry about how there won’t be another love I experience that is exactly like the love she gave me. Full of mutual respect, a shared upbringing, and no consideration of time or space. See Kaya, as you all know, was full of love. So, since time doesn’t exist anymore now that she is not with us, I want all of us to travel back in time for a few moments.
I’m an only child, but luckily, I was never lonely due to all the cousins I have. Zakiyyah and I were born in 1994; two girls with beautifully unique names and along with a few other cousins we formed a crew. How lucky were we to have built in friends? But like any friend group, you form mini ones inside of them. It’s natural. Kaya and I were on an island connected to our other cousins, but happy and at peace when it was just us. I can’t go through a photo album without Kaya making many appearances. For holidays, birthdays, movie trips, and ordinary days she was there. My cousins became my siblings. Kaya is my sister. If you know Kaya, you know she had all the play cousins in the world, but when someone asked about me: “Oh that’s my first cousin on my mother side.” The delineation mattered to her, to show our closeness. It mattered to me too, so much that at age 24, I left work one day and spent over 13 hours sitting awake advocating for her in a hospital. It meant nothing to show up, time and distance a non-factor, because I love her. I forgave her when she gave my robot dog a permanent limp at age 5. I thought of her at age 14 when I had to interview teenagers for my very first job and I made sure her quote made it in the Amsterdam newspaper. Like I said, I have so many memories of her, supporting me, having fun with me, simply loving me. There are more, but I will leave you with my most recent memory of her. Last month Kaya asked me if I could be the godmother of her child, Victory. When I asked her why me, she laughed. Not because she was annoyed or anything like that, but because it tickled her that I would even ask. She said “Well I don’t know, when I thought of a godmother you were the first person I thought of. We grew up together, I love you, and when I think of someone I would want my child to be like or be with, it’s you. You’re a good person.” I’ll never forget how that made me feel. It made me feel so loved, so seen. So many people spend their whole lives trying to be seen and she saw me with so much ease. Despite my pain, I feel immense pride at knowing that she knew I loved her, and I knew she loved me. I have no regrets and the last thing I have to say is to her is: We grew up together, I love you and when I think about someone who I want to continue living my life in honor of, it’s you. It’s you Kaya.
