Bailey Walker: A Eulogy (Independent Reading Project for The Sky is Everywhere)

Discussion
Nov 13, 2015
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Context: Lennie helped write her sister Bailey’s eulogy for her funeral, but found little interest in sharing in it her true feelings about the death of her sister. Given her tendency to write poems to Bailey and throw them in random places, I expect Lennie would have written a real eulogy; thoughts to be shared with her dead sister only. This is what I imagine Lennie would write, perhaps found in a bottle floating in a river or stuck on a branch and titling it Bailey Walker: A Eulogy, Revised.

Bailey Walker: A Eulogy, Revised
The sun fell, the wind stopped, on the day that Bailey Walker ceased living in this world. The clouds burst open, and poured teardrops over a world without The Girl Who Wore Daisies in Her Hair; the sun too ashamed to show its face in a place that took away The Girl Who Sang from Her Soul.
The sky was not apologetic for stealing the girl that painted it blue. The sky was everywhere; Bailey was everywhere, yet her captive didn’t have the decency to disappear like she.
I hope the heavens split in two to welcome The Girl Constructed of Stardust.
Time didn’t stop with her heart. Grief didn’t end the day she was lowered into the ground and buried in ten feet of my guilt. Grief is forever-- it lives inside you.
Breath for breath, I am consumed by my anguish for Bailey.
When she spoke, Gram’s flowers would swap colors with the sun; when she sang, the stars would unravel and the constellations would live and breathe amongst their mortal counterparts -
so don’t tell me that my heartache for her that beats larger than my own heart is something that will die like the stars that I could once touch;
I am beyond the boundaries to accept the reassurance that the sun will rise and somehow the leering ghosts around me will ignore my imperfections bathed in gold.
I am a broken tool and I can barely fix myself, let alone fill the hole that bore into my heart when she was ripped from my existance.
Bailey let me tell you that the scars on my heart count the days I’ve been without you and if tears were feathers I would fly past the sky to find you. If only I could just peel back the stars-- I know you’re there waiting for me...
I still wish on shooting stars, because when I look up at that god-forsaken sky, I hope that one of those falling lights is you falling into my arms and it hasn’t worked yet but maybe it’s not a case of which one, but instead of how many, because one of them has to be you, your hair gleaming silver as my gravitational heartache pulls you to the ground; I have to be able to wish you back.
Where are you, Bailey? I have never heard silence so loud--
I want the glass to splinter and the sky to crumble and the walls to disintegrate from my deafening voice, so that maybe you can hear me behind the cotton clouds.
Where are you, Bailey?
Life is suspended in time-- we are waiting for you in this prison of grief that neither lets us in nor out. The walls are bare and the mirror is empty, but we still sit in chairs that forgot how to hold us, waiting for the girl in the blue dress to come home once more.
Why did you leave, Bailey?
Was it because the sun looked so hopeful from afar, or because the wind could carry you away? Did you wonder what was beyond the veil of stars like I?
I know now that her death had nothing to do with fate and everything to do with chance, the same chance that brought The Girl Who Danced in the Rain into our lives.
You are confined to the void of unknown, while I am imprisoned in oblivion.
You live amongst the very infinity we used to dream of while I cannot escape the idea that your bookmark will only ever stay on page 153, that the younger sister will soon outgrow the older.
I cannot begin to fathom a world without Bailey, but I realized that I don’t ever have to. Bailey is in the twinkling of stars, the whispering of winds, the echoes of imagination and yet she composes everything that is oh so real around us. Bailey was The Color of Extraordinary. Open your eyes; Extraordinary is all around us! I used to resent the fact that the memory of Bailey was everywhere, but why should I ever object to the fact that her ashes are blowing in the wind and she is rising from her grave in the form of flowers. Grief and love are conjoined, you don't get one without the other. All I can do is love her, and love the world, emulate her with her same passion that turned paintings into people and raindrops into oceans.
Grief is a balancing act that is nothing to do with pain and everything to do with beauty; just as the sky is a boundary that is nothing to do with a wall and everything to do with a curtain.
As the rain pours years and thunder explodes centuries against the navy night, as younger grows old and older stays young, Bailey, from your view on the tail of a comet, I hope that you can look down and agree that The Sky is Everywhere.