The Woman I Miss

I knew whose voice I would hear as soon as the phone rang. 

I’d seen this situation in movies, but this was real. The feeling was real. Too real.

My sister said “hey there.” I honestly don’t remember the rest of the conversation. What I do remember is the emptiness. And my satisfaction. I had a chance to say goodbye. More importantly, she had a chance to say goodbye, and I knew she needed that to rest well.

Laura was two years older than I, and we were different in almost every way. She spent her early years focused on intellectual pursuits and band and church. Her focus was everyone else. I spent my early years running the neighborhood, hustling, partying and pretty much wasting every opportunity I was offered. My focus was me.

Laura always succeeded academically. She achieved her Bachelor’s and Master’s degrees with honors from prestigious colleges. She spent years volunteering with Americorps, before deciding to head off to Boston College School of Theology.

She poured her energy into helping others.

Later, I was moment-by-moment through living one big party - following the Grateful Dead, hitchhiking around the country, doing & selling drugs, & generally creating memories I can’t remember. I poured my energy into what I thought was a good time, but I later realized I was just chasing demons I could never possibly catch.

That phone call is the only thing from my life of chaos that haunts me. It has for 20+ years. Because I don’t remember it. Because I didn’t realize what it was. I hung up the phone and bought a plane ticket home for the next morning. Then I got sick. I’d spent plenty of time in my short 24 years being really sick. But nothing like that kind of sick.

I was frozen that day - I couldn’t think, I couldn’t move. I certainly couldn’t get on a plane. The phone rang again that afternoon. This call I remember, every detail. My father, in tears, bumbled through telling me Laura was gone. We didn’t say much, because what do you say?

I don’t believe in God or any sort of spiritual force. But for that one day, I questioned that lack of belief. Something was at play. I needed to see Laura.

I needed to hug her, to tell her I loved her, to tell her that I would build her legacy.

I looked at the plane ticket, so angry that I succumbed to weakness and couldn’t get home. But then I realized had I been on that plane, my mother or father would have been at the airport to pick me up when my sister died.

I needed to be there. I was angry I wasn’t. But my mother and father needed that more than I. They would not have recovered had one of them missed that moment. It was one of the most important moments of their life.

I never saw Laura again, but I silently promised her that I would build her legacy. So I poured all of that hustle, all of that intellect, all of that loss, into doing everything I could to enable more Lauras in this world.

My wife generously enabled me to pursue that dream. I plowed through school. I organized life-changing events. I created companies. I sacrificed my dreams, my health, and nearly sacrificed my marriage.

To this day, and for the rest of my days, I will be chasing a demon.

This demon is different - it is not being able to meaningfully say goodbye. It keeps me awake at night, it is my alarm clock, and is my fuel. I lost a light that day. The world lost a light that day. So I spend my days turning on as many lights as I can to replace what we lost. 

**I am grateful the leadership at John Carroll University took a chance on me and my big ideas. I am finally in a place where I have the freedom and resources to pursue this dream. I have been fortunate enough to organize the Dare to Dream Retreat, and to organize a series of Women In . . . Dinners (this and this) to turn on lights of amazing young women. I've got more work to do, and an incredible team to do it with. Follow our journey here.**