Kate B.
Photography by Kate B
Before reading this letter, we'd like for you to know it discusses Kate B’s experience with suicide of a friend. If you think that reading about this will be triggering for you, we encourage you to take a pause before reading this letter, center yourself, and prepare any resources you may need to access after reading it. If you'd rather not read this letter, we encourage you to read a letter on a different topic, such as Dana Q’s letter. If you're reading this, your feelings are valid.
If you're reading this, please check on a friend today.
I lost a friend from UVA my first year. We weren’t super close, just in the beginning stages of getting to know each other, but I could tell we were going to be close. At the time of her death, she had been working for my family as a caretaker for my younger sister, who is intellectually disabled. Because of this intimate relationship, after her death, I took on a lot of responsibilities at UVA for memorializing her. I spoke at memorial services and answered people’s questions. I often found myself feeling guilty for saying anything at all, since I did not know her as well as others. It was a lot of weight for one person to carry, which I would often unload by bursting into a collage of emotions in front of a gracious listener. I spent the summer after my first year healing, which usually involved tearful journaling sessions in my apartment, hour-long walks around Charlottesville every day, and meet-ups with friends who understood what I was going through.
The three-year anniversary of her death is this April. A lot has changed since then – I’ve been through several difficult periods in the years since her death that have shaped my values, beliefs, aspirations, and wellbeing in more ways than I thought possible. And for the most part, I have healed. That summer, I learned how to talk to my family about our loss, which I initially was not able to do, and I allowed myself to distribute the weight I was carrying beyond my small group of faithful listeners (who were mostly RAs).
As we go deeper into what will likely be a long period of isolation, I find myself thinking often about this friend, her loss, and what I learned in the healing process. First, a thought that makes me smile: She would have hated the quarantine. I think back to an afternoon we shared sitting in the grass with my little sister, just chatting, relaxed. Although I have no doubt that if she were alive today, she would have obeyed the stay-at-home order, in her ideas, in her dreams, in her love, she truly could not be confined. She was limitless. This is how I will always remember her.
With isolation, I am concerned for those of us, myself included, who carry heavy weights around with us and need others to spread the weight out. Whether our battles be mental illnesses, grief, difficulties in personal relationships, or something else, many of us rely on seeing our friends, mentors, and community members to make it through each day. I am especially concerned for those of us whose struggles cannot be compared to carrying weights, which suggests a finality to adversity; for those members of our community who experience this crisis through the lens of ongoing marginalization and injustice, as our institutions reveal their cracks. Many of the ways we usually express support for each other in the face of adversity – from a gentle hug to a small vigil to a large protest – have now become increasingly dangerous and even illegal. Being near each other to support each other through whatever adversity we are facing personally or as a community is one of the greatest gifts college provides, and that is gone for the time being.
But that does not mean we cannot still connect. It just means the connection looks different for now. It means that lightening the loads that we carry and responding to acts of injustice may require some extra creative thinking. But through a variety of means – traditional mail, Zoom, email, texts, and a good old phone call – I believe we can still stay connected. I acknowledge it is not the same. But the adversities we as individuals and as communities face do not take breaks for coronavirus, and in many cases are exacerbated. Beyond a stressful homework assignment or impending job interview, the difficulties most of us were facing before spring break have not gone away. So, reach out to a friend or peer. See how they are doing. Lend a hand if they want it. And then reach out to someone else. If you are struggling, please know that the fact that there is a global crisis going on does not change the severity of what you are going through. You are not a burden, and your feelings are always valid. Reach out to a friend, loved one, or helpline if you want support, consult resources on protecting your mental health during the outbreak, and make sure to get some fresh air if you are able during this period of isolation.
And when we reunite in person, I hope we savor the feeling of being together again. Because if there’s anything that losing my friend taught me – and that I have relearned through this experience of isolation – it is to be grateful for the moments, however short, that you spend together.
As for me? Feel free to reach out. I’m only a Zoom call, postcard, or text message away.
How to Protect Your Mental Health During the Coronavirus Outbreak
Kate B., University of Virginia
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