Naomi D., Oakwood High School
A promise of sincerity
The promise formed early in November, but would inevitably be broken, and in turn, break me. I left the room I’d spent so long in. I don't know what made me leave the room, but it couldn’t have been something unimportant. Almost nothing could tear me away from where my brother lay fighting his last battle.
The lounge was dimly lit with soft, cushioned chairs and gentle artwork. It was the sort of room that was meant to be kind to you when the world wasn't. I waited there long after visiting hours had ended, for it would have been cruel to enforce this limit. There, I made a promise that this moment of pain would not go forgotten. To lose pain is to lose strength, and Levi deserved his strength to carry on. I promised I would not forget the pain, forget him. I told myself I’d allow grief. I wouldn’t force a happy act.
I tried keeping my promise. I allowed myself to be consumed by the suffering of my family. And I knew it was better this way- to feel what I needed to feel. All the grief counselors said so anyway. But what twelve-year-old should have to learn the best ways to grieve? The kind that loses her sixteen-year-old brother, I guess.
I learned grief doesn’t follow a schedule. And no, it doesn’t end in a month where you get to package it up neatly and send it on its way, thinking, “Well, glad that thing’s done,”. Because it will always come back, persistently showing up uninvited. Although some small, quiet part of you will want it back because that package contains a kind of love you know you could never truly give up.
Nevertheless, I broke my promise because the lie proved so much easier. So, I pretended I was ok. I chose happiness rather than the truth. My family went the same route. Together, we went to movies, hosted dinners, and kept smiling. Oh my, I was good at telling this lie.
But try as I may to paint over my pain, it always found a way to bleed through the canvas. It became increasingly difficult to uphold this lie because truth happens to be as persistent as pain. Once again, I was drowning, struggling to keep a happy face and bright eyes, when all those eyes wanted was to cry.
So, I let them. I allowed myself to feel what I needed to feel: love, pain, and a bond so strong, it would last forever.
Now, I surround myself with everlasting love, and I let myself feel the everlasting sorrow. But this time, it doesn't drown me. Because I finally found out that choosing happiness doesn’t have to be a lie. It emerges through laughing friends and beautiful sunrises, not fake smiles and distractions. It appears through love and pain and resilience. Choosing happiness —a real happiness, healed a promise I thought I’d shattered. Choosing happiness healed me.
