I haven’t wrote here in a while, but my blog has gotten the most traffic anything I’ve written or created. My post about my cousin was found through search engines when people have searched her name.
Aris Bishop, Aris Bishop, Aris Bishop. Aris. Donshae. Bishop. Why did Aris Bishop jump? Was Aris Bishop depressed? Did Aris Bishop commit suicide? Why did she commit suicide? Did Aris Bishop leave a suicide note?
All those questions and instead of answers, those searchers found my blog post, my rambling about the validation of grief. Her mom sent me a text this morning about an article that used her as the reason that Portland should put nets or fences around Vista Bridge. It was poetic. News might be an objective thing, but you can tell when the Creative Writing majors and minors write an article and when the Communications majors do. This was definitely the former.
Anyway, I read it and horror gripped me like it was the day I heard. There I was, sitting on this white girl’s couch holding my new kitten, and hearing my father say in that way that tries to be offhand, that tries to be normal, “Aris died”. I know people want to know> Hell, I would search those things too, if I was curious but wouldn’t ask. But it still feels weird. I suppose because I like the notion that people I know won’t read my posts, but I know they have now. Witnesses to grief. And grief is something vulnerable and you never know what someone will think or do when your vulnerability is exposed. All the same, I won’t take down my post. Or make it private.
Aris, Aris, Aris, Aris. I look at her name and think, “Arise”; I look at her name and see “Transcend”. I see love, like “Eres”; I see my five year second cousin on my other side of the family, Heiress; I see her sticky hands and her skinny legs in navy blue school uniforms and I think, “inheirit”, and I think of belonging, I think of it at it’s basis, at it’s concept, I think how funny the way things belong, but there’s no line to draw. Dots that aren’t connected…but they are. Stars lightyears away but to us, their single constellations and again, my mind wants only the thought of transcendence. But it’s not blissfully, or airy as it would suggest. The softness of the name, is an echo the sound of leaves and wind when there is nothing else in the street. Aris. Heiress. Eres.
And echoes are lonely sounding things. Besides this, my life has direction again. I am going to move to Cleveland. I will miss Atlanta like crazy, for reasons I’ll delve into in my next post when I can catch a minute along to drink tea (I’m attempting to cut back on my coffee intake…we’ll see how that goes. Might go well since I’m broke) and write with no distractions. Living with a significant other and family makes it hard like that. But I leave in a little over a month; I’ll be glad to be gone, I’m excited! But I’m afraid too. My emotional knowledge of Cleveland only reminds me of my brother’s mysterious illnesses and symptoms and the countless hours in Cleveland Clinic in the cold. But I’m sure it will be fine.
As cold as it will be after September, and no matter where I will go, Ohio feels like home, even if it is a despondent and neglected home.