Celebrate we will: Grief as the evolution of love

Dear JAMMers,

St. Patrick's Day - for many means family, parades, and celebrations.

My family does not have any Irish heritage, so it was just another day for us. Well, it was just another day...until I went to college. I met a group of girlfriends who were Irish, smart, hilarious, and kind. The connection was instant and lifelong.

One of these girls was my dear friend Kate. Kate loved her family, her hair straightener, the show Friends, Dave Matthew's Band, Cheesy Fiesta Potatoes - no sour cream from Taco Bell, and celebrating St. Patrick's Day.

She would explain her love for the holiday to me by saying how Christmas morning and St. Patrick's Day are nearly equal - in her mind. That is a powerful bond to your family's heritage and traditions. With my new-found family at college, I was convinced to walk in the NYC St. Patrick's Day parade with our alma mater, Manhattan College. It was actually exhilarating, so long as the weather was nice. They welcomed my Italian-American olive-complexioned self with open arms.

We lived together and both studied marketing. We would have lengthy talks filled with dreaming and barrels of laughter all day, every day for 3 years. She was a genuine good soul. When she looked you in the eyes and said "Thank you so much" or her catchphrase "It's all good," the warmth was like a hug.

Besides coming from the same high school, we bonded over our obsession with pop culture. When she had a crush on someone, she wouldn't just say it plainly - she would say "We're the new Jim and Pam."

Her patented jam dancing was always a highlight of a girls' night out. In bars that predominantly played hip-hop dance bangers, our jukebox takeovers always had to include at least one Dave Matthews Song. We would all dance as hard to Dave, even if it was a slow song. #41, Grey Street, Ants Marching all were in the rotation. We found it to be a good use of our crumbled-up singles. People would boo when they realized it was a Dave song; eventually, some people began realizing it was our group that would continue to put them on amidst a set of bangers. They would tell us to stop.

We did not.

In March of 2010, Kate passed away in a car accident.

A memory recently resurfaced for me. If we hadn't lost her, it probably would not be burned in my brain. It would have been another regular day. If my memory serves me correctly it was about one month before the accident.

On a random Friday, we met up with friends for lunch on campus - like we had done a million times. The buffet food was questionable but the vibes were immaculate. I was done with classes for the day. It was a Friday so we were out late the night before. I planned to eat quickly and go home to nap.

But we were having one of those girl chats.. ya know the ones that transcend time and tiredness. I ended up staying for an additional hour to keep her company before her next class because everyone else had to run. Three different times during this chat sesh, she was like, "You can seriously go home, don't worry about me."

I stayed. We talked and talked. I honestly don't remember about what.

I do distinctly remember the way she looked, her low pony, and the smile on her face. I think it may have been on the last one-on-one times we had. Maybe that is why the memory sticks out?

Losing her taught me the meaning of heartbreak. My roommates and I traded laughing so hard we cried...to just crying for a while. We were met with stares all over campus. They were kind and sympathetic stares, but tough to digest when you are a shell of yourself.

The semester we lost her, we were assigned to a group project together. We had done one before and crushed it, and we were excited to do the same again. I had to complete the work without her and give a presentation in Room 300.

One day, I was walking into Room 300 with one of my closest friends and then one day I was suddenly walking in alone.

Fast-forward from 2010 to 2025. I pull away from my house to drive to Manhattan College to give a talk to the marketing club. The second block I turn onto, a cement truck pulls in front of me. The company name was my friend Kate's last name.

It is not a common name.

It has a unique spelling.

Yet, here it was in front of me at this moment, on this day.

She was cheering me on.

Of course, emotions flood whenever I arrive to campus. But because of the sign from the truck, they are mostly joyful feelings.

I realized as I walked around, I had no idea what building or room this talk was meant to be in. Of all the rooms on the entire campus, this talk was scheduled for - you guessed it - Room 300. My heart stopped when I approached the door. This was the same room where I was so completely broken in 2010.

Walking into that room as a 35-year-old mother who continues to work extremely hard to process the loss and find the path forward was surreal. It was almost as if I thought I would walk in the room and see an image of my 20-year-old self in a million pieces in my seat in the third row.

I ran to the bathroom to gather myself.

I started the talk and instantly I felt a wave of gratitude wash over me. It is like she was with me and giving me strength and making me smile..again. As she did so many times before.

Being with the students, seeing their innocence and curiosity, hearing about their plans, etc. was so invigorating. Maybe some of those students had not experienced the trauma we did; for years - those types of thoughts was what had my focus. Why her? Why are we all experiencing this?

But on this day, my thought was - well maybe the students in this room will (hopefully) finish their year without any lifechanging grief, but they also didn't have a friend like Kate.

I was blessed to have this one-of-one person in my life. The love was real. The memories are real.

Sometimes, I push forward so hard that I wind up locking out all of the memories - to shut out the most painful ones. This visit to our school gave me an important reminder: I cannot shut myself down so fully.

I need to make a conscious effort to reflect on moments that brought us joy.

Though her 20 years were short, her mark is tangible and undeniable. It always will be.

So today - celebrate we will, 'cause life is short but sweet for certain.  

I (still) love you, Kate.

No worries,

Jaclyn