We Are NOT Alone by Ryan Thurgaland

Kathryn and me dancing with our silhouettes in the clouds, at one of the stops on Blue Ridge Parkway.

The final sentence sat on the page shining back at me, blurry through tears I couldn’t hold back. I had just finished writing the newsletter for the foundation that my family started in memory of my sister. It wasn’t a long essay, maybe 3 pages long, that I focused on sharing my direct and honest story. However, when I typed in that final sentence, I realized that this was more than just a newsletter; it was the first time I had shared my grief out loud. This was the moment that I realized my memories with my sister were not a weight I had to carry, but a sign of the strong connection that I still have with her. Writing this newsletter redefined grief for me, not as a lonesome journey I must overcome in silence, but as a testimony we hold together strengthening our family and community that we are lucky to be a part of.

In 2020, my family's lives were forever changed when I lost my older sister in a car accident. This sentence feels impossible even now over 5 years later. Saying it aloud or writing it down feels too plain and simple. The reality is that nothing about grief is plain or simple. One moment we were doing routine chores and getting into petty arguments with each other. Then there was that knock on our door that made our lives stand still. My world was quickly flipped upside down as I struggled to find a purpose in life. Purpose felt like empty dreams. Dreams my sister didn’t get to see through.

Somehow, with the support from friends and family, we were able to cultivate a way to bring some light to the situation. We ended up launching a non-profit organization called the KLT foundation where we have made it our mission to shine light upon the darkest of hours. Through this foundation, my family is able to offer a number of things to spread my sister's love including: grief support and gift baskets to families after the loss of a younger loved one, scholarships to students pursuing an artistic field, and hosting an annual music and arts festival in Florida called the LOL (Love of Life) Festival.

By 2022, the KLT Foundation was starting to gain momentum, so when my parents asked me to write the Valentine’s Day newsletter I quickly accepted the task thinking it would be fairly straightforward, telling of our story as best friends growing up. However, writing has a way of breaking down barriers you were convinced were permanent or even non-existent.

The title came easy to me. It was simply how I felt and what I wanted people to know; I am NOT alone. Although, the rest of the writing no longer felt as easy as it did when I said yes to the task. I wrote slowly at first, not sure where to begin. But soon memories began flooding my mind. The page started to fill up quickly as I was reminded of Kathryn and I as our young selves always goofing off. We were always inseparable. I convinced her to join the marching band and she persuaded me into dancing. It’s hard to grasp how sacred these childhood memories are until it's all the memories you have to look back on with someone.

As I wrote I realized that while I spent so much time trying to be strong, I was neglecting one of the most important aspects of grief; the part where you share your story. Where you allow others to aid you and carry what you can’t. Where your story becomes a light reminding others that they, too, are not alone.

About halfway through the newsletter, the tone began to shift as I began recalling the night that she left and didn’t come home. All of a sudden, the writing flow I had finally fallen into suddenly came to a halt. Writing down my memory of the worst day of my life made me relive the moment over and over in my head. I realized there were a lot of feelings that I had suppressed that all came rushing to me at once. I thought I had finally reached the final stage of grief: acceptance. Writing this paper made me come to this realization - the stages of grief aren’t stages at all, it is a continuous cycle moving through the different feelings of grief.

Many of these thoughts and feelings I had kept to myself as I tried to prove my strength and independence. For so long I had thought of resilience as to not shed a tear and to not expose the pain I felt. I realized there is enormous strength involved in allowing yourself to be vulnerable and sharing your own personal story. Strength isn’t in accepting the shattered world around you, but rather having the courage to rebuild with what you still have.

Writing this newsletter taught me that acceptance doesn’t mean to forget. It means to carry a legacy of remembrance. To speak their name long after they're gone. Today when I write of Kathryn, I feel a strong connection. The memories we share are no longer something that I want to avoid for the pain it may cause me, it is a gift I celebrate every time I look back. Though I wish more than anything for her to come home, the memories are not something I am burdened with but the most wonderful gift God has given me that is the inspiration that Kathryn is. They are proof that she lived a life with meaning, that she mattered, and that she is shaping the person I am becoming.

Grief has changed my life, but writing has changed my grief. I am not alone, not because the pain is gone, but because I allowed others to see it and in return they shared with me theirs.

Ryan Thurgaland

Below is a video of Kathryn and me performing our version of California Dreamin by the Mamas and Papas (ages 5 & 3)

https://youtu.be/EmGGn9S1cnM?si=DJM0hAe-tpbK-z8a