Everyone Notices When a Light Goes Out

Those of you who know me well know I’m no stranger to grief and tragedy. But no matter how much of them you see, nothing will ever prepare you for the next time they strike.

The last three years of my life have been both devastating and beautiful, because somehow those two things can be true at the same time. I’ve lost so much, but I’ve also grown so much. I’ve learned that none of what you carry gets lighter, you just get stronger. But then no matter how strong you are, no matter how much weight you can manage, you will still get tired. No matter how much training you do. Even if, spiritually, you’re built like The Rock, you will still become exhausted.

For context, and in the least trauma dumpy way possible, I call this my spark notes: in 2023, when I was 19, my 18-year-old cousin and best friend, Mia, committed suicide. About a month and a half later, my dear friend Alex unexpectedly passed away, in his early thirties. About a month and a half after that, my parents split up. I had barely begun to grieve Mia and Alex, and then I was thrown into grieving everything I thought I knew about my life and childhood and family.

When someone dies, you don’t just grieve them. You grieve every version of yourself that was supposed to make memories with them.

After Mia died, I knew the trajectory of my life had changed, because I had never known a life without her in it, and there was never a future in mind without her, either. There is no one in this world who knows me like she did. So much about who I am now is because of who she was when she was alive, and who we were when we were together growing up. I’m scared of forgetting her as I get older, because if I forget her, I forget me. And for a minute there, I did forget me. It’s remembering her that brings me back to myself.

When someone dies, you don’t just grieve them. You grieve the way you used to see the world.

When Alex died, even after I had already gone through so much grief, everything I thought I knew about life and death and the world changed again. Selfishly, I thought, how could this happen when I was still barely beginning to figure out what my life was without Mia? And beyond that, how could someone so young and full of life die so unexpectedly? I was so sick of young people dying. He had the biggest dreams in the world, and he shared them with anyone who would listen.

I’m sitting here trying to describe how being around him made you feel, but I can’t find the words. It really was just a feeling. He had the softest heart and the brightest smile and something about that combination was just contagious. He was so unapologetically and happily who he was, it was impossible not to be exactly who you are with him, too.

Alex’s death rocked his community. Everybody loved him. Everybody notices when a light goes out.

At the end of that year, just under two months after Alex passed away, my parents sat me down after work one night and told me that they were splitting up because my mom was coming out as lesbian.

Yeah girl. Let me give you a second to get up.

After I had experienced the absolute worst grief in the world over and over again, I was suddenly learning to grieve something entirely different. I was grieving something that was technically still here. And full disclosure, this is the one I’m still figuring out. So when I feel like life has qualified me more to speak on that, I probably will.

So, yeah. Happy New Year! Bye 2023.

A lot of 2024 is a blur, I can’t even lie. Between the grief, therapy, medication, and the fact that I was turning 20, the worst most confusing age in the world, I was pretty much just going through the motions of life as a shell lowkey. At the end of that year, my grandma, Mama Debi, was diagnosed again with cancer.

This one was world ending to me.

At the beginning of 2025 I was living with my aunts Casey and Melinda, but when they got a life changing call, and adopted my 4-year-old cousin Candy (literally the most amazing and beautiful miracle in the world), I had to move out suddenly.

Miracle: Casey and Melinda are becoming moms! I get to be an older cousin/auntie! Tragedy: I just got settled in, I just started feeling safe, and now I have to run again.

Luckily, Mama Debi had an extra room.

My Mama Debi was my hero in so many ways. When I was younger, I used to ask my mom how old I had to turn for Mama Debi to be my mom instead of her. I love her, so much.

The relationship I had with Mama Debi was always special, and she was truly, in every way, a one of a kind woman. She was fierce, loud, hilarious, annoying, and my personal favorite thing about her was how much she loved people, but also was never afraid to call someone out if they were being an asshole. She is the reason I believe in magic, because even with the horrible things life can show you, it will still, also, show you miracles, as corny as it sounds.

A lot of people wonder how it’s possible to believe in miracles when I’ve seen so much pain. And my answer to that is, the pain can’t have been for nothing. I don’t believe in the “everything happens for a reason” bullshit. Any God worth putting my faith in wouldn’t plan to put me through the things I’ve experienced. So I don’t blame God (or the Universe, or Angels, or whatever you call it) for what I’ve been through. I believe that God is being dealt these cards at the same time as me, because of free will. God isn’t responsible for all the tragedies. But God is responsible for all the miracles.

Not to get all philosophical. I used to be nervous talking about spirituality, because I was afraid of judgment, because what I believe doesn’t really fit in with any one religion or belief system. I used to be so scared of people thinking I was crazy, especially because there were times in my life where I didn’t believe in a higher power at all, and I didn’t want people to judge me for changing my mind. But I remember talking to my friend Kenzie about that: I just felt crazy and I was so scared everyone was going to realize how crazy and messed up I was. And she said to me, “Crystal, I don’t think anyone’s going to think you’re crazy. I think they’re going to understand that you’ve been through a lot.” Such a simple thing, but hearing that genuinely changed my life.

In April of 2025, I moved in with Mama Debi and my other aunt, Christina. Mama Debi was going through the motions; chemotherapy and medication, but everyone pretty much knew that we would be lucky if she made it to Christmas.

Miracle: I get to live with Mama Debi and Aunt Christina, a literal dream come true since childhood. Tragedy: Christina and I have to watch Mama Debi slowly lose herself to cancer, while trying not to lose ourselves in the anticipatory grief of it all.

When someone dies, you don’t just grieve them. You grieve everything you won’t get to share with them.

My grandma passed away, and three days later, I was getting on a flight to Los Angeles to manage a small tour around California. Because life just keeps going. Your world literally shatters underneath your feet and you still have to go to work, try and maintain a social life, and either: a), tell people how you’re feeling, or b), tell people you’re doing okay and thanks for asking. Literally both options suck, because grief fucking sucks. Sorry for swearing. I literally don’t think grief can be properly expressed without it.

Miracle: Coolest job of my life so far. Tragedy: I couldn’t even share it with her. Or Alex. Or Mia. I honestly didn’t even feel like I deserved to enjoy or celebrate the opportunities I was given because I didn’t want people to think I was just forgetting about the things that were still happening around me, and the grief among other feelings I had yet to unpack about it all.

Just when you think you finally understand it, it strikes again. And not only do you realize that it’s different again, you also realize that grief is all exactly the fucking same, too. Somehow. Because I’m grieving everything I won’t get to share with Mama Debi and I’m grieving what I thought about the future and I’m grieving who I was when she was still here and all of those pieces of grief fall on top of the pieces of grief that have just been accumulating. Pieces from Alex, pieces from Mia, pieces from my childhood.

For the eight months that I lived with my grandma before she died, I learned so much about life, and God, and the possibility of it all. For the year that I knew Alex, I learned so much about love, and joy, and storytelling. From Mia, I learned what it meant to be unconditionally seen and loved. I wish all the time that I could just text them updates or something and get their advice. But also it’s weird because lowkey I know what they would say even if I asked them, you know? Or if I wish I could show them something, I already know how they would react. But it doesn’t change how badly I still want to hear their laugh or give them a hug.

When someone dies, they aren’t the only one being grieved. Because people who love you are grieving the version of you before you knew the grief, too.

It’s no secret that grief changes you. I think the real secret is that at the same time, it also doesn’t change you.

I will never not be sad. I’m pretty much confident that there will never be a version of me that is fully happy again, because of the losses I’ve endured. That’s a pretty big change from what you think the world is like as a kid. Which is really sad obviously. But what I think is beautiful, is even so, I’m still happy.

I’m happy, because I can still watch Marvel movies, which Mia and I talked about all the time. I’m happy, because I can listen to Britney Spears, who was Alex’s favorite and is now one of mine. I’m happy, because my best friend Kaleb loves peach rings and those were Mama Debi’s favorite. I’m happy, because I can wear my hair in pigtails since they remind me of Mia. I’m happy, because stars remind me of Alex. I’m happy, because as dumb as it might sound, Mama Debi would have loved this season of Love Island.

I’m desperately, for the rest of my life, devastated by the truth and the thought of the rest of my life without them here. But I’m happy that in some ways, they’re still here after all, and they’ll never really be gone. The grief has changed my definition, but it isn’t the loss that defines me, it’s the love.

After Mama Debi died, for the first time in a long time, I had no idea where my life was going. For a minute, I did have the thought that the only way out of how painful it felt to exist was… well, out. But I know Mia would beat my ass if I ever did that. And I know that that’s not the solution. My world as I knew it was literally deteriorating around me in every way imaginable, and the only thing I could tell myself was, it won’t feel like this tomorrow.

I used to think in times of grief, “it won’t feel like this in a year.” Which is true. But a year is a long time. And after Mia died, I realized how quickly life changes. Every year, month, week that goes by without her here, I think about how much my life has changed and imagine how much her life could have changed.

In just a day, your life changes, and you feel different. The pain doesn’t go away. The grief doesn’t stop. You might not feel better, but it won’t feel like it does right now, and that’s worth seeing through.

Toward the end of 2025, I spent the majority of my time with my soulsister, Catie.

Like Mia, Catie has always been an unconditional confidante. As I spent less and less time at home with Mama Debi, as her health declined more rapidly and she became less lucid and less aware of who she was, and who I was, Catie’s home was my home, as it had been many times when we were teenagers, too. She let me cry about everything and nothing, and she didn’t look at me like I was crazy. Neither did her parents. They told me I could stay as long as I needed to. I was basically living out of Catie’s closet and my Trader Joe’s tote bag for a week or so, and then after I was able to go back home after Mama Debi passed, I was off to LA three days later, and wasn’t back again until Christmas Eve.

The first quarter of 2026 brought me a wake up call. After Mia died, I had completely ceased any kind of life planning or dreaming. Because what is life without her? By planning my future, I was facing that she wouldn’t be part of it. And now, I was back from tour, still not really processing anything, but this time, I couldn’t ignore the grief. Not when I had to figure out how to live in this house now that it wasn’t Mama Debi’s even though she was just here a second ago, and everything around here had been touched by her. How is it just supposed to be normal without her? Like what?

Her funeral was in March, and a few days after that, I was supposed to leave for another tour, but due to other circumstances, it got cancelled. So, it just so happened that I instead got to pick up a gig as sound designer for the production of RENT that Catie and Kaleb were both in.

Wake up call incoming!

Miracle: After losing an entire tour’s worth of work, I had a great show to fall back onto, surrounded by great people, including the two people alive who know me best. Tragedy: I had to watch Kaleb die a painful, devastating death as Angel Dumott Schunard. After experiencing all of the unimaginable loss I had already been dealt, now my mind wouldn’t even let me stop thinking about the world ending concept of losing another one of the most important people in my life.

Girl I cried every night. Girl the emotional warfare is real. Girl I started having nightmares. Girl I said get me on the phone with a therapist. Girl I felt like everyone hated me because I was way too much, and why was I not able to keep my composure over a death that isn’t even real? Why was everything so hard? Why did everything feel so heavy all of a sudden? After everything that I had already been through and already carried gracefully, why now was I suddenly exhausted? Why now could I not keep it together?

Everyone notices when a light goes out. I could feel my light going out, and I just didn’t want people to notice. Because who the hell am I for my light to be dimming?

I knew what to do when someone else’s light went out, because so many lights in my life had. And even if I hadn’t known, RENT was making sure I remembered. **We light candles.** When a light goes out, we become responsible for carrying the light left behind.

When Mia’s light went out, lighting a candle for her was easy. All I wanted was for people to know how bright and wonderful and special her light is. It was just as easy as lighting a candle for Alex, whose light was just as bright and wonderful and special, in a completely different way. And for Mama Debi, the same.

When you’re carrying that many candles and still trying to hide your own dimming light, it’s kind of exhausting. It’s exhausting, and then you’re like, wait I’m actually holding onto so much light, why don’t I share some with myself. Does that even make sense? Like, I’m carrying all of the great beautiful things that I love about the people I lost, to try and keep them alive. Maybe they can keep me alive too.

Tragedy: Lights go out. Miracle: We can light candles.