I have a godson. His name is Evander and, he is eight.

He was born with a calling card birthmark in the middle of his forehead. Evander loves burritos, competitive swimming and exploring the woods behind his house perched cozily on the top of a mountain. He smiles and laughs easily with the same happy eyes and bright smile as his mama.

Her name was Tracy. My best friend. The kind of friend you can go months without talking to and pick up right where you left off. If we were related I’d say she would have been my favorite cousin. Not a sister. Tracy already had a sister. Roxanne. Beautiful, popular and confident. Her car was a 1988 Honda Civic POS that was spray painted gold which reflected her eccentric charm. She’s the kind of girl who could tell you to eat shit and die and you’d thank her for it.

Tracy and Roxanne were defined by the scarves and hats they wore. The kind of girls who could make anything look good.

Tracy was a daredevil. Tracy was the life of the party. Tracy was triumphantly talented.

Was.

There are some great stories I want to share about this fantastic girl. But, I can’t share her life without sharing her death. Past tense reveals an elephant in the room that tries to distract from the best memories. But, it’s there. And, to remember Tracy is to remember all of her. Including a day in January 2012 when she took her own life.

For a very long time, I was very, very sad. I was angry. I was manipulated by my fear of death. I still have some of those feelings at times but, the years since have shown me that life is about holding disparate things together in the same space at the same time.

Light. Heavy. Light.

Our experience of life is a wave never constant. In the same day, hour, minute life is heartbreaking and hilarious. People show themselves to be deep and shallow. The world is perilous and also full of mercy.

Light. Heavy. Light. A wave never constant, rolling through the full range of emotion showing us what it is to be fully human in the highs and in the lows.