Where Grief Lives, So Does Love: A Birthday Reflection for Joey

Where Grief Lives, So Does Love: A Birthday Reflection for Joey

Today is my sister Joey’s 20^th birthday, and this weekend marks 13 years since we lost her in the tragedy at Sandy Hook Elementary School.  

I wanted to write about Joey, the small ways I keep her with me and how she drives the work I do, but I’ve struggled to frame my thoughts and put the spirit of my remembrance into words. Last year, I shared why daffodils are important to me — how they remind me of my sister, the pain of losing someone you love, but also the strength that comes from resilience. When I wrote those words, I knew the message I wanted to impart. I was feeling gratitude and hope, and I wanted people to take the same from my story.  

This year, I am in a different place.  

I so badly want to reflect on this time of year with the same profound gratitude I felt a year ago, but when I sat down to put words on paper, it wasn’t gratitude that came to me. This year the emotions feel harder to describe. I don’t have a tidy message of hope to give today, but I do believe that there is power in sharing this part of my story as well — the period where grief and the weight of trauma feel heavier and more difficult to carry.  

As I’ve journeyed further from the day we lost Joey and into my own adulthood, I often wonder if my brain is working to process the things I couldn’t understand as a child. In a recent conversation with my mom, she reminded me that working through these feelings, while not easy, will create more space for Joey in this new chapter of my life and version of myself.  

Since graduating college a year ago, I have dedicated my professional life to the mission of Safe and Sound — to protect every school and every student, every day. As I’ve traveled around the country sharing my story and my work on the Averted School Violence Project, I’ve carried Joey with me. It is her memory that drives me to help schools learn how they can better protect all students. It is her memory that gives me the strength to share my experiences. It is her memory that shapes my perspective and guides my understanding. 

On the days where my grief feels heaviest, I go back to the mission at the root of this work and to my desire that no family ever experience the loss that mine has walked through.  

This year I returned to Sandy Hook for the very first time since December 14, 2012. I went alone and parked my car as close to the “spot” as possible. That “spot” has consumed so much of my mind for the last 13 years, but on that day, I tried to convince myself that it was just a location. I told myself that I was the one giving it so much weight, so much power over me. I reminded myself that before that day, it had been a place where I felt happy and cared for. It was a cloudy day, but as I stood at the “spot,” the sun began to break through the clouds. Just for a moment, I could feel that I wasn’t alone.  

Joey has been with me all these years. Even when I’m not aware, even when it feels like the grief leaves no room for the happiness of her memory. She is still here, and when I open my eyes, I can see her all around me.  

I look around the house and see the purple wine glasses that I carefully picked out for my family last Christmas. I hadn’t even considered why I picked the purple ones. 

I see the purple flowers I bought for my mom’s birthday. They were beautiful and caught my eye at the store. Again, I hadn’t picked the purple ones on purpose. 

I went to Joey’s grave this year, another journey I made alone. I picked out purple and pink flowers to plant around her headstone. Flowers that I thought would survive the cold, flowers that I thought she would like.  

As we celebrate Joey’s 20^th birthday, I may not be experiencing the same gratitude that I did a year ago, but I am grateful to still have my sister with me, even on the cloudiest of days.