Everything Doesn't Happen for a Reason

Yearbooks were misleading to me because I didn’t get one every year. Mum only bought the classmate collection when it could serve as a graduation gift. I’d watch my classmates eagerly turn the freshly printed pages in hopes of seeing themselves numerous times. Giggles and pointing fingers came with every page turn. I’d wait patiently as they leafed through the pages. Then came the yearbook signing. Colored pens like skittles would be tossed my way. Some pens smelled like grape, watermelon, or the eccentric scent of blue raspberry. With multiple books piling up, I had to reference the front page for the owner of the yearbook I was about to sign. The signing frenzy covered my one-way transaction of not exchanging a yearbook for them to ink up. It also gave me time to skim through the classmate collection. I appreciated gaining an idea as to what my classmates were indulging in or cringing about. While most years followed this pattern, I capitalized on having four older siblings. It was a special treat when I could enjoy their graduation gift as well. I’d take my time looking at every photo knowing this opportunity was sweeter than skittles.

When I graduated and was finally gifted my very own yearbook, I spent hours looking at it from start to finish. I experienced the value of Mum’s decision to only purchase my senior edition. I felt more connected to it, for I had spent years building friendships and making memories with the smiles on the pages. It also served as a touching testament and bittersweet farewell to my peers. I spent extra time in the senior section reading responses as to where my senior classmates see themselves in ten years, their best high school memory, and their favorite quote. It was funny witnessing the personalities of my classmates lift off the page. Some responded seriously with ten-year plans including children, starting their own businesses, and responsible-sounding adult goals. Others let their sarcasm shine with one planning to “earn money by selling lemonade at my local grocery store.”

Favorite quotes followed a similar pattern as the ten-year plans. Some quotes echoed perseverance, hard work, and living life to the fullest. It was fitting to see a devoted wrestler write, “Gold medals aren’t really made of gold. They are made of sweat, determination, and a hard-to-find alloy called guts.” A classmate radiated his love for life with the Latin phrase, Carpe Diem (Seize the Day). On the same page as these mature quotes were silly sayings. One classmate blended his participation in band and his apparent love for SpongeBob through sharing, “No, Patrick, mayonnaise is not an instrument.” Another must have been over the senior sentimentalism for she wrote, “I’m out…”

I began guessing the kind of response each classmate would give based on what I knew about him or her. I enjoyed seeing the personalities of friends shine through their selected quotes. I also valued learning more about classmates I only knew from walking the hallways between classes.

Between the sincerity and sarcasm, one quote stood out to me for a different reason – its length. With a decreased font size, Marilyn Monroe’s belief about life made it into the yearbook. I witnessed my classmate pour her heart out through sharing Marilyn Monroe’s words, “I believe that everything happens for a reason, people change so that you can learn to let go, things go wrong so that you appreciate them when they’re right, you believe lies so you eventually learn to trust no one but yourself, sometimes good things fall apart so better things can fall together.”

While this quote initially grabbed my attention because of its character count, my reaction to it caught me off guard. I found myself doubting the marvelous Marilyn Monroe. I had heard this saying before and its message resonated with me. My internal dialogue often revolved around finding the reason behind everything. Reasons justified and pacified anything that happened in my life. Something not going as planned or fulfilling potential was surely happening for a perfect purpose I simply couldn’t understand at that moment. I even took the extreme of believing certain outfits I wore were for a reason that would be made known later.

I turned the page leaving behind the words of Ms. Monroe to escape back into the humor of other classmates. But the knot in my stomach didn’t dissolve. I never understood my changed attitude to the belief that everything happens for a reason until my sister Sarah died. With Sarah’s passing, I confronted an opposing belief to that of magnificent Marilyn. I found myself encountering a new belief that everything doesn’t happen for a reason. My core compass had been shattered with Sarah’s death. Reasons were no longer compass needles pointing a path forward. Grief replaced reason.

I didn’t have a compass to guide me through grief. I was lost for a long time within my sorrow, confusion, and broken heart. Some family members championed Sarah’s ability to be an organ donor. Her organs saved lives and provided life-enhancing gifts to over thirty people! A ten-year-old girl received her heart! But I refused to consider organ donation as the reason for Sarah’s death. I wanted Sarah to be alive with her heart inside her own body, and for my heart to not be broken. I yearned to find the perfect purpose to support Marilyn Monroe’s belief that “sometimes good things fall apart so better things can fall together.” I was constantly disappointed in my pursuit. I hadn’t found a reason for Sarah’s death. Nothing could be better than Sarah being alive.

I recall a phone call with a friend who kindly asked how I was doing with my sister’s passing. To my own surprise, I replied flatly, “Sarah died because she died.” My direct summation of Sarah’s passing made my friend laugh out loud over the phone. He apologized if his laugh came across as insensitive. He explained that he couldn’t help but appreciate my honesty. It had been over four years since Sarah’s passing when I responded to her fateful day without a search for a reason. It was freeing to confront how I really felt and what I believed. I hadn’t found an explanation for Sarah’s death in all those years. And more so, I no longer saw a reason to find a reason. Sarah died because she died.

When I encounter those who are grieving, I see their natural response of wanting a reason behind the death of their loved one. We wrestle when death strikes our loved ones, although we know everyone will perish, including those we cherish. We grasp for meaning and higher plans while challenging our common denominator. It’s like we’re trying to climb a ladder to the heavens so we can ask why our loved one is no longer on earth with us below. But our ladders have no rungs for us to scale. Before Sarah died, I recall attending a student-faculty dinner in college. These dinners were intended for deep and meaningful conversation between students and their professors. My classmate offered her perspective that people don’t die so families become closer. Admittedly, my stomach churned with opposition. I did believe that someone could die so the family grew closer. After Sarah’s death, I now cringe at having ever supported such a selfish idea.

Grief has made me confront our individual journeys. As I watched Sarah die in the hospital, I felt left behind. We shared a bedroom for over a decade. I knew the sound of Sarah sleeping as well as I knew the sound of Mum calling my name. Sarah was supposed to grow old with me. And yet, she was leaving without me. I wanted it to feel like Sarah was staying at a friend's house. I’d rest calmly knowing her subtle snores would fill our bedroom the next night. But the night of her death only grew darker and more silent. Sarah was on her own journey into eternity. And I’d never share a room with her again.

Maybe I’m taking Marilyn Monroe’s life mantra out of context. Perhaps her belief that everything happens for a reason was only meant to apply to the living. Grief has shown me that people change, including myself. I have learned to let go of the parts that hurt myself and others. Things that go wrong feel insignificant after witnessing Sarah die. I appreciate how right a simple day can feel. I believed the lie that grief would suffocate me until I took my last breath. I’m learning to trust myself to heal, grow, and help others along their journeys. My heart fell apart from Sarah’s death. It’s been healing back together into a more caring, loving, committed, grateful, and joyful heart.

For my favorite quote in the yearbook, I selected the wise words of Forrest Gump’s momma, “Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re gonna get.” My Dad said this to me all the time when I was growing up. During my high school years, before any life tragedies, I championed the positivity of this saying and believed in happy life surprises. I’ve now lived the unpredictability of a chocolate box with Sarah’s death. I finally understand what Forrest Gump’s momma and my dad were trying to tell me. I didn’t know I was gonna get grief as a cross to bear. While Sarah didn’t die for a reason, I’m seeing the reason for my grief. I can transform my grief into a gift that can help others turn hurt into healing, pain into purpose, and their grief into a gift too.