grieve the tiny deaths

as plato says, “death should be viewed as the achievement of life”

i am, famously, always thinking about death. mostly tiny deaths, though.

tiny deaths include, but are not limited to:

• moving far away from home

• getting sick and missing a party

• a breakup (can double as a big death)

• losing a ring

• grieving who you were and who you thought you’d be by now (what ever that means)

• rotting fruit

• etc

i believe that even the tiniest of deaths deserve attention and a proper grievance. this way, we are able to let them rest, and we are able to keep living. we learn to accept change. the more we come face to face with grief, the more we transform, whether we like it or not.

tiny deaths prepare us for the big ones, or the big one (what ever that means).

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i turn 27 this week and i know it is not popular to feel this way, but i am so excited to keep getting older. getting older scares a lot of people, and that makes sense. it scares me too! it comes with a lot more tiny deaths.

august first will be 27 little funerals for the girl i once was. it will also be another reminder that i am still here, and i relish in the playful delight of wondering who i will become.

i have a good friend who i used to talk with on the phone in the summers about our dreams for getting older. who we would be at 30 vs 44 vs 72? the magic that it held, talking about our very own “what if’s!”

this friend died three years ago and i wish there was a way to make that sentence not sound so harsh or finite. i mostly wish that the sentence didn’t exist, and that she would call me on my birthday and we would laugh and sing and talk about getting old. i know that is impossible, and yet it punctures me. i even know that if she did call me - i would have another issue at hand, because i am nowhere near prepared nor qualified to kiki with the supernatural.

she was a little older than me, but technically this august, for the first time, i will be older than her. this is a type of grief i am less experienced in.

this august, i will write her a letter.

i will also cry with my best friends about being alive and loving each other right here, right now. i might even cry about the gorgeous peach i bought last week, that is now rotted in the fruit basket. i am mad at myself and i am mad at the fruit.

what a reminder of our of undeniable mortality. some days, my armor is too floral to prevent wounds. even from something as soft as a rotted peach.

i am so glad i feel everything.

matthew is the name of my favorite person, and his favorite fruits are stone fruits. specifically, the peach. i think that is the cutest favorite fruit a person could have. a winter person loving such a summer fruit. i also like that he likes basketball, and that peach picking baskets are what they used as basketball hoops, before basketball hoops. i like how everything in life seems to stay connected.

maybe the rotted peach just reminded me that i miss my favorite person, and that grief and love need each other. i am so glad to feel even the tiniest of deaths. they prepare me for the big ones.

plato says “death should be viewed as the achievement of life.”

i get another year older, and i achieve more life.

i am softer with myself.

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goodnight, my little peaches. love you! what a privilege it is to have made it this far.

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who wrote this?

Maya Richardson is an actress and writer based in New York City. If you want to keep up with the many ways her heart spills, you can find her on instagram, youtube, or her substack, Maya's Menagerie.