In memoriam: Sumer Alvarez
A year has passed since I got that late-night phone call from Tessa to tell me that our friend Sumer had died.
Sumer was the most original person I know. She was so many good things - funny, smart, inquisitive, introspective, caring - and she was entirely her own person. I know that everyone's special and unique and blah blah blah, but I really, truly have never met anyone like her. Nor do I expect to.
I felt foolish for crying so hard at her Mass, because there were people there who knew her much better and longer than I did, and I could never presume to understand their grief. But I don't think it's too melodramatic to say that some part of me was buried that day.
I remember that her car seemed very much like her - filled to the brim with stuff, but interesting stuff. She had a surfboard, art supplies, strings of beads, whatever she happened to be carrying around at that point. Crawling into her car (and I do mean crawling - her car was FULL) was very much like how I imagine crawling into her mind would be. Everyone has a messy car, but no one's car was messy in quite the way hers was.
I remember her on Kairos. Her talk at the beginning of the retreat blew the whole room away. You could have heard a pin drop, we were all listening so intently. I still remember her Kairos songs: "In My Life" by the Beatles and "Everything Is Everything" by Lauryn Hill. I think of her every time I hear them.
I remember talking through a semester of Algebra II with her, and getting pissed on her behalf at a ridiculously unfair religion teacher. I remember going to the Lions Club debate thing with her and Russell and laughing about it at Coffee Cartel over boba. I remember the red plaid dress she wore on the Homecoming Court, and I remember how she used to call me Chorizo.
I kick myself now for not staying in touch better. The last time that I saw her was Thanksgiving break my freshman year of college, though we had exchanged a couple of online messages since then. I feel very, very lucky that one of the last messages I ever got from her was one of excitement and support for a big change in my life.
I think that the beauty of old friends is that when you go back to see them again, both of you can feel how much you've changed, and all the things that have happened since you saw each other last. Old friends are a way of revisiting your past. When you lose an old friend, you also lose who you were with that friend.
I'm not worried about Sumer - I know she's in good hands. But life is that much less interesting without her.
Sumer was the most original person I know. She was so many good things - funny, smart, inquisitive, introspective, caring - and she was entirely her own person. I know that everyone's special and unique and blah blah blah, but I really, truly have never met anyone like her. Nor do I expect to.
I felt foolish for crying so hard at her Mass, because there were people there who knew her much better and longer than I did, and I could never presume to understand their grief. But I don't think it's too melodramatic to say that some part of me was buried that day.
I remember that her car seemed very much like her - filled to the brim with stuff, but interesting stuff. She had a surfboard, art supplies, strings of beads, whatever she happened to be carrying around at that point. Crawling into her car (and I do mean crawling - her car was FULL) was very much like how I imagine crawling into her mind would be. Everyone has a messy car, but no one's car was messy in quite the way hers was.
I remember her on Kairos. Her talk at the beginning of the retreat blew the whole room away. You could have heard a pin drop, we were all listening so intently. I still remember her Kairos songs: "In My Life" by the Beatles and "Everything Is Everything" by Lauryn Hill. I think of her every time I hear them.
I remember talking through a semester of Algebra II with her, and getting pissed on her behalf at a ridiculously unfair religion teacher. I remember going to the Lions Club debate thing with her and Russell and laughing about it at Coffee Cartel over boba. I remember the red plaid dress she wore on the Homecoming Court, and I remember how she used to call me Chorizo.
I kick myself now for not staying in touch better. The last time that I saw her was Thanksgiving break my freshman year of college, though we had exchanged a couple of online messages since then. I feel very, very lucky that one of the last messages I ever got from her was one of excitement and support for a big change in my life.
I think that the beauty of old friends is that when you go back to see them again, both of you can feel how much you've changed, and all the things that have happened since you saw each other last. Old friends are a way of revisiting your past. When you lose an old friend, you also lose who you were with that friend.
I'm not worried about Sumer - I know she's in good hands. But life is that much less interesting without her.