A force to be reckoned with
If you didn’t meet Adela, you’ve never met anyone like her.
I was almost three when Adela was born. As a preemie with many complications, my family was told it was very unlikely that she would live to adulthood and if she did, she would have no quality of life.
My sister spent her 40 years, 3 months, and 1 day on this planet proving them wrong.
Adela (R) was a force to be reckoned with. She was really someone I could talk to and she gave the best advice. Adela had special needs, and it may seem like we didn't have that type of relationship, but we did. She understood a lot more than I think people gave her credit for.
Adela lived joyfully and with curiosity
Although Adela was born with intellectual and physical disabilities, she never let that stop her.
She was an athlete in the Special Olympics, she swam, she skied, she loved riding her bike and going to music festivals. She loved doing all the big things, but the thing she loved most was connecting with people, especially kids. She was so curious, particularly about people. She just fearlessly made friends everywhere she went.
Adela didn't start talking until she was 5, but my family and I joke that once she started, she never stopped talking and asking questions. She probably even talked in her sleep. Adela was always curious and loved meeting new people more than anything.
Sometimes, a death can be expected and still sudden
We knew Adela’s body was getting tired and her lungs were failing her. She’d had to give up her tricycle and was on increasing amounts of oxygen. About six months before she died, she had started using a walker.
What we didn’t know was that she had necrotic pneumonia that was eating away at her lungs.
Arriving home after a family trip, Adela collapsed getting out of the car. Her lungs just quit. Her body was done.
I’m actually very glad we didn’t know how much her health had declined, because her death would have looked a lot different. Now, while her death was sudden and traumatic, it was more like the death she would have wanted. It wasn’t an ideal death but it was close, because she was home, my dad and brother were with her, and I was relieved to confirm that the EMTs who responded to the call were cute—and Adela loved a cute boy. Surrounded by cute boys was probably in her top 5 of ways to die.
But we were heartbroken. And I found out, perhaps appropriate, that without her there is less air.
As a Grief Counselor, I live grief day in and day out and yet I was unprepared for how hard breathing without her would be.
Losing a sibling
This loss gave me the unique opportunity to see how the care I provide my clients is helpful, and how I can gently guide my clients’ support system to support them better.
I have been very lucky to have an amazing support system. The death of a sibling is often overlooked. When a parent loses their child, a tragic thing, the focus is often on the parent, less so on the siblings who are also going through a terribly difficult experience. This was something I was already passionate about supporting my clients in, but now that I have lost a sibling myself, I have even greater compassion and understanding. Your sibling is there with you all your life, growing up alongside you — your first friend. It’s a very significant loss.
Your sibling is there with you your whole life, they are your very first friend.
There are no rules in grief — except maybe this one
In my work with my clients, I stress the importance of balancing sorrow with joy, remembrance, and celebration. All of it gets to be present and it doesn’t look the same for everyone.
We often say there are no rules in grief, but I have created some anyway. One of them is:
If it helps you, if it helps the grief sting a little bit less, and it doesn’t hurt you or anyone else, it doesn’t matter how crazy someone else thinks it is.
I used to talk to Adela multiple times a day, and I still talk to her now. I have a client who still washes her husband’s clothes, even though they’re already clean, because she can’t fold the laundry and not fold his. Another client still buys her husband a new shirt every Christmas, like she used to while he was alive.
When we lose someone, it creates a ripple of grief. We lose the person, we lose our daily phone calls with them, we lose what we thought our lives were going to look like.
Whatever it is that helps you get through, do that thing.
Whatever it is for you, it’s okay.
Acts of remembrance can be healing. LEFT: My family and I donated a brick to the Denver Botanic Gardens, a place Adela loved. We now have a beautiful place we can visit to remember her. RIGHT: Adela loved Frozen so when I saw a Frozen advent calendar in the store last Christmas, I bought it for myself since I couldn't buy it for her.
The healing power of remembrance
As a grief counselor I know the importance of remembrance. There are meaningful things we can do to keep our loved ones close and carry their memory forward.
One of the biggest things we do in my family is we continue to talk about her and we tell stories. I wear clothes that used to belong to her. During the holiday season, I still buy presents for her, or I buy presents for my family members from her.
We also want to do special things in her name.
Last year, we donated a brick to the Denver Botanic Gardens, a place she loved visiting, and invited everyone for the brick unveiling on her birthday in April.
This year, we are raising money for a room in our Inpatient Care Center at Blue Ridge Care to be named Adela’s Room.
We are working on making one of our inpatient rooms more easily adaptable for young patients. Adela would have loved this, because she spent a lot of time in hospitals and while she loved the nurses, doctors, CNAs, and custodians, she hated the hospital. She would have loved to know that she helped make kids feels better when they have to be in a scary place.
How I honor my sister every day
My sister Adela was something else.
We just have so many good memories of the life that she lived and the person she was.
When I look back on her life and her declining health, I remember that she continued to laugh, she continued to talk to people and ask questions, she continued to tease her siblings relentlessly — something she was very good at — and she continued until her last breath. That is something I am so proud of.
Every day, Adela gives me the drive to do what I do as a grief counselor. Getting to do this work is such an honor.
Nothing can fix the hole inside my heart or make the grief go away.
But now, when I feel like can’t breathe, I remember that Adela used her every breath to love people, and I try to do the same.
