It is April 6, the anniversary of Maya’s death in 1992, a day when my internal clock 
stopped. My daughter is dead. After more than two decades, I am still not used to that. I see Maya as a vibrant 19-year-old. But she would be turning 41 this October.
Her grave lies just beyond the overarching arms of a giant California oak tree, a dancing canopy that splays light and shadow on the grass with every breath of wind.
The Garden of Remembrance
I vividly remember standing there the day Maya’s casket was lowered. As workers winched her down, my knees buckled. I wanted to jump in after her.
Her permanent absence seemed like a hole in my life I could never fill – a cavern far larger than the slash of black earth I stared down into. As I sit at her headstone 21 years later, I shake my head in wonder. How did I survive?
There are many “objective” answers to that question – love of family and friends, therapy, grief work, writing, prayer, humor, resilience – but in the end, the fact that I am still here remains mysterious to me. Forgive the cliché, but it is a miracle.
Every moment is precious because I know how quickly and randomly life can end. After Maya died, I learned what real trouble is. Most of the time, I no longer sweat the small stuff. I complain less and celebrate more. Oddly, this day is a happy anniversary. It’s a marker of how very far I’ve come since that afternoon all I wanted to do was follow my daughter into her grave.
All I can do for my daughter now is tend her grave and write words that keep her memory alive. Each word I write is like a breadcrumb in a long trail of survival, each one an echo of the love I carry for Maya.
“Maya was a bright light,” my friend LeeAnn Brook wrote on my Facebook page. “I remember that beautiful little girl.”
I do too – a dancing sprite, blond hair glistening in the sun, splashing in the Yuba River on a glorious summer afternoon. Or, her later self, brash and witty, making jokes at my expense. No one could make me laugh like Maya could – and no one did a better job of pushing my buttons. Our conflicts were fierce, emblematic battles.
Thankfully, we made peace before she left for college. Raising a high-spirited teenager bent on rebellion is not for the faint of heart. I’m so grateful she lived long enough to show herself – and me – where her talents as an actress might take her. In Swimming with Maya I write about those final months of her life when she blossomed before my eyes.
Maya left this earth at the peak of her beauty and energy. She was like the shooting stars carved into her headstone – a brilliant flash across the heavens.I celebrate her always, but most especially on April 6.
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Emily – thank you!
I want you to know I read your book, sobbed through most of it, and was deeply deeply touched by it.
I am so sorry that you had to lose your daughter that way, a freak accident, and I know that at the end of your life here on earth, Maya will be the first one you see and hug and she will lead you over to the New World. It will be a celebration like no other and the reason I know this is that my sister Eileen, who was also so full of promise, died one night, August 4th, 2004. I had just seen her at my own first daughters bridal shower on August 1st…(I have 2 daughters, like you)
and Eileen was so vibrant..so happy to be just starting her married life(July 2004)..practicing as a veterinarian after so much schooling, for only 2 years..moving into this old house with a great property so animals could run about freely..at the top of her game..never did drugs or alcohol..and bam. She is gone, leaving only her earth shell body.
I remember at her funeral one of my cousins saying over and over..”Where did you go Eileen?
It was a shocking and sad time for our whole family, but especially for my beautiful mom, who had lost her husband in 2003 and then lost her youngest daughter Eileen Joy, who was only 34 years old. My Mom and Eileen were so close..they went everywhere together including vacations, since my Dad was getting older, and was 11 years older than my Mom.
After Eileen died so suddenly, it made sense that she would try to reach us, to say good bye or let us know she was okay. I was very close to her(I was 16 when she was born) so I almost felt like her Mom and was proud and protective of her. The day of her funeral I fell into a deep sleep at about 5am, having stayed up the night before crying off and on, and Eileen came to me in this colorful clear dream. She told me not to cry, that she was ALIVE, and kept telling me that over and over again..and not to cry too long.. It was such a real dream that when I woke up suddenly, I felt like she had just been there with me.
I wanted you to know this, for whatever reason, because I think there is another life after this life, and that you will be with Maya, and others you have known and loved.
Thanks for a wonderful book, Swimming with Maya, and wanted you to know I have signed myself up to be a donor in her honor.
I wish you joy,
Laurie Cassidy
Laurie,
Thank you for your lovely reflections. I am so sorry for your loss – sudden death is very hard. I am very touched that you decided to become a donor in honor of Maya.
Ellie, you have my deepest sympathy. AL
Thank you, Al. I appreciate your support.
Beautifully written and so very sad. My condolences.