A Eulogy for my Sister
My sister Kelly was born on May 24, 1981 — I still vividly remember the day she came home from Jess Parish Hospital to our house on War Eagle Drive, I remember sitting in this oversized chair that had been reupholstered in green fabric with giant floral print and having her placed in my lap. The light of love that was kindled in my heart in that moment has never dwindled, never diminished, never flickered or fluttered, has never, ever gone out… my love for my sister is inextinguishable.
Lives are fleeting, love is eternal.
The single-most joyful memory I have of my sister goes something like this — I was in my late teens which would have made her around eleven. I can’t even remember how it started, but we were bantering back and forth in that half-serious, half-teasing way that siblings sometimes do — and somewhere along the line one of us commented on the size of the other’s ears… and well, we ran with it like an overcaffeinated improv troupe! Kelly ended up wrapping her ears down to little nubs in hair ties and running around the house doing a squeaky mouse imitation of me and swearing that she couldn’t hear anything because her ears were too small — while I ended up with large socks hanging from my ears running around trumpeting in imitation of an outraged elephant named Kelly! There are those moments in life that devolve into unforgettable hilarity and where you wake up the next day with your stomach muscles still sore from laughing so hard — it was one of those times.
Yet there is no joy in this life that is not balanced by sorrow, and so must I balance my remembrance of my sister with the sorrow that broke my heart — but, hopefully, told in a new way, a way that invites you to remember it differently too…
Most of us had that day as a kid, or more than one, when we decided to run away from home! Some of us hid in the woods behind house for an afternoon, or longer. Some of us never made it past the end of the driveway or the end of the block or the edge of town. Kelly, at the age of fourteen, made it all the way across three states and was gone for two years! For just a moment, I invite you to put aside the anxiety and the fear and the worry and the sorrow… all those things that many of us held so tightly for those years when she was gone… and just marvel, really marvel, at the boldness, the tenacity, the intelligence and perseverance and fortitude that it took for a fourteen year old to accomplish something like that! Because that was Kelly too — when she did something, she did it BIG. When she focused her attention on you, or her affection on you, it was palpable and impactful — she had a way of just bringing her whole, unreserved self to bear on you… and it made you feel SEEN. It’s a rare talent. She was a rare being.
I also can’t be true to my sister’s life — can’t stand here in front of all of you — and maintain the silence that feeds the cycle of shame, isolation, and failure around addiction. Addiction is a disease — a disease that doesn’t get the treatment, funding, or compassion that it deserves because it is stigmatized. I invite you all to donate to shatterproof.org in Kelly’s name — so that future Kelly’s and their families will have better options — and hopefully, better treatments, than she had…
There were a lot of beautiful and powerful stories that ended up on the cutting room floor as I was putting together this eulogy — but as I stand here in front of you there is another memory, or maybe a thought, that I feel I must share with you. Given the circumstances of Kelly’s life, I’m willing to bet that many of you, like me, have spent this past week wishing you could go back and make other choices, wondering what you might have done differently, wondering if it could have changed the outcome for Kelly. Well, there is one thing that I know about my sister — she would have forgiven you. You are worthy of love, you are worthy of forgiveness. If there is a lesson to learn from her death, it is that you must also forgive yourself, that is part of grieving her death and honoring her life. Kelly was always ready to forgive others, my regret is that she could not forgive herself, could not see that she was as worthy of love and forgiveness as everyone else… and she deserved it, she deserved it.
As a final thought, I’d like to share a brief reading from author Stephen Jenkinson, one that captures that spirit of what I intend to take away from Kelly’s life and from her death:
“Experience (is teaching us), not that life is cruel or random, arbitrary or unjust. Experience (is teaching us) that life is, unlikely, everything considered. Waking up each day and having your children do so is not written in the stars, it’s not an entitlement, it’s far from inevitable, it’s not even the fair-trade, meritocratic consequence of being careful and living right, for all that, waking up each day is a gift. It’s a gift that is not reward for playing by the rules, it is a gift (of grace), giving each living person the capacity, not just to go on, but to go on as if he or she had been gifted, to go on in gratitude and wonder that all the things of the world that keep them alive have continued while they slept. (In) Wonder, awe, and a feeling of being on the receiving end for now of something mysteriously good.”
(… there is a donation page at https://www.shatterproof.org/nationalmemorial/kelly-hepburn# if you would like to make a contribution in her honor)
