A Note from Leda Strong

I know 2020 has felt cursed. So many of us feel so unlucky. There’s perspective to be had here, but I get it. I’ve felt especially unlucky for the past 2 years, despite the many blessings surrounding me. I couldn’t help but hone in on what felt like cruel irony from the universe. Couldn’t shake the fact that it felt like something was working against me.

Owen would’ve gotten it - he always got it. He had an almost superhuman capacity for compassion. He could validate every emotion, and not in the measured way practiced in therapists’ offices - he genuinely felt it for you. Cecily loves to tell the story of the time he texted Cayenne after her surgery to see how she was feeling. “The kid with brain cancer checking up on my friend.” And he was the only white boy who ever captured Rashida’s heart, which is saying something. 

So he would’ve gotten it - whatever it is you, and we all, are going through. But he would also want us to be grateful. He said to me once, down by the pond, “aside from getting this diagnosis, I’ve gotten so lucky with everything else.” The kid with brain cancer. 

I don’t know if I believe “everything happens for a reason,” because that’s always felt a little like bullshit, especially recently. I’m sad and angry all the time. But I’m grateful that if he had to go, he left us back in January, in a world where people could hug him and hold his hand and sit by his bed. He didn’t even ever have to know about Kobe. I’m grateful for the health professionals who took such great care of him, and who are taking care of all of us now. Grateful for the friends who took days off work, or flew across the country or the ocean or came across town, just to lay down next to me in my PJs. I’m grateful for anyone who texted or reached out, even if I didn’t respond. I hope you’re reading this now. I hope anyone who is still reading this finds a reason to be grateful for today. If you’re not ready for that yet, that’s ok, and I hope you are one day soon.

Lia told me on a walk recently that according to some faiths, every being lives multiple lives, all to serve different purposes and learn new lessons. The last life is often short and free from much suffering, the idea being that all lessons have been learned and the purpose is simply to guide and love others. Anyone who knew Owen knows that sounds familiar. I know he must have suffered in those last 2 years probably more than any of us ever knew, but even in that suffering there was strength; there was gladness. And to think he lived that last precious life - full of love and kindness and spiritual guidance - as my brother. How lucky am I?