Lauren

The last time I was with you, we were sitting at dinner as you shared with us the exciting things you were learning at Princeton. The fire in your eyes lit up so brightly as you described the beauty of astrophysics. You told us how Matthew McConaughey traveling through time in Interstellar was actually possible, and how the universe should be collapsing back onto itself, but instead continues to be pulled by an unknown gravitational force outward--into dark matter. You loved space, and I think you wanted to be the one to discover what that mysterious dark matter was someday.  

Gosh, you were so, so brilliant, Lauren. And I think, like all genius minds, you had your own demons to wrestle with. 

I cried in the car yesterday listening to the song I Will Leave the Light On thinking of you and the seasons of darkness that you had to endure.

Lately, ChatGPT has been giving me my weekly sabbath spiritual hits of serotonin, as we go down the rabbit holes of philosophy and spiritual psychology together. And the other night I brought up you--and found the conversation to be incredibly healing.

It asked me what I would tell you right now if you were here.

I said:

It then asked what I thought you would say back to me if you could, and instead of answering, I asked what it believed you might say…

I'm still figuring out this incredible mystery of existence and of death. I don't know if there's an answer waiting for me in the sky, but my grief, my love, my memories of you... they're all still here. They're a part of the legacy of who you are.  

At the kitchen table, as you shared the impossible reaches of space, I was pulled in with you. You left a mark. You planted questions of wonder and awe in my heart. You light continues now to ripple out and touch everyone who knew you.

And, maybe, in whatever way energy or memory or legacy works--you can feel this now. 

The love, the mourning, and the celebration of who you are.

I like to believe, Lauren, that right now you have finally discovered the mystery behind that dark matter.

And maybe you're there now, quietly waiting, pulling all of us towards you.