Kiera passed away last night.
I am unbelievably saddened and moved. I am mourning this terrible loss. I am stunned. I am rocked to my core. My heart is broken. It takes away my breath, and I have not seen nor spoken to her in almost 27 years.
Kiera was everything that I wasn’t: sweet, gentle, effortlessly and naturally lovely, blonde, blue-eyed, healthy and lithe, motivated, faithful, well-adjusted, sober. She was the adopted daughter of two educated, upper-middle class, upstanding, and loving parents. Her father was a physician, her mother (though I do not remember what she did) was devoted and committed to her work within her community and church.
Kiera had a wonderfully caring, affectionate, tender, and devoted relationship to her doting father that amazed and confused me, having just found the wherewithal to accept and distance myself from the abusive paternity that I finally realized I could never satisfy or impress. She loved her mother profoundly, and would lock herself in her dorm room to cry after a weekend at home because she missed her so much. I resented mine, and purposely tried to do every terrible thing I thought she wouldn’t, if she were me.
Kiera introduced me to a wholesome, suburban, prosperous life without obvious struggle, contention, or thought of lack. She had values, self-discipline, courage, and a strength of character that was a refreshing revelation. She was vulnerable, hopeful, virtuous, authentic, honest, and fearlessly forthcoming with a gentility that was completely foreign to me.
And, of all things about her that I could hardly fathom, she was religious–a devout Catholic who completely, and unabashedly believed, and found solace and fortitude in her faith. I had turned my back on everything spiritual after escaping the tyranny of indoctrination that drove me to the brink as a teen and believed in nothing, especially myself.
But, in spite of all of our differences, for some odd, inconceivable (and in hindsight, probably Divinely providential) reason, Kiera was one of my best friends. She saw past my rough edges, without ever a hint of scrutiny, condescension, or superiority. Kiera took me home with her and introduced me to her family and friends. I was awed by her home, her neighborhood, her pristine and safe community, and she shared it earnestly and generously.
Once, when we were in New Orleans for a brief stop on a collegiate choir tour, she took me with her and a few of our mutual friends to have lunch with her brother who was studying to become a priest. I remember feeling noticeably uncomfortable–incredibly shameful and exposed at the restaurant, as if he could see my lower-class, vulgar corruption, decide that I was damned and wonder why his immaculate sister would waste her time with me.
Kiera did, briefly dabble in my wanton indulgences, smoking, drinking and carousing, chasing boys and partying until the wee hours of the night until she realized and acknowledged that it didn’t serve her and she simply stopped, without judgment, or ever attempting to get me to do the same. I was so impressed by that, and humbled that she still considered me of value as a friend. But, it was nothing to her. She loved me just the same, and didn’t seek to convert or change me.
Kiera saw something in me that I could not–blinded by my perceived worthlessness, and impoverished vision. It was that heartfelt and purposeful expression of her essence that is so rare that was so influential to me. Kiera single handedly changed the trajectory of my spiritual life.
One late night, when me and our girls were hanging out in the dorm, Kiera, for lack of a better term, bore witness to her faith. She told us a dramatic and honestly, at the time, unbelievable story of her personal encounter with demons and the Archangel Michael. Apparently, when in high school after coming home from being out with a friend, their path was barred by something sinister and dark that caused an ominous rift in the driveway of the home they were parked in front of.
Now, I, of course, had been drinking heavily when this story was divulged, (and it was over 25 years ago) so the details may not be entirely accurate. But, long story short, with fervent and fearful prayer Archangel Michael appeared, and right before their very eyes, battled the dark forces and banished them to the abyss, saving her and her friend from imminent danger. It was a vision, a veritable mystical miracle, and she was completely convinced of its certainty.
Though I didn’t totally (or even remotely, to be honest) believe that her testimony was true, it resonated with me and stuck in my mind and heart. I couldn’t shake it, and found it so strange that she would not only believe such nonsense, but would tell us about it willingly. A few days, weeks, or months later that story and Kiera’s wholehearted and impassioned belief shifted my own reality and truth.
For some time, I had been suffering from mysterious and slightly debilitating panic attacks. Long after midnight, as I (a self-declared night owl and insomniac) tried to sleep on the rare nights that I was snug in my own bed, a terrible feeling would overtake me and I would feel as if my own demon, or some dark, sinister weight was sitting on my chest and I could barely breathe. I would lie there, frozen, terrified, close to tears not knowing what to do, just hoping that it would stop at some point, soon.
It was so bad for a while that I just refused to sleep. Even drinking to oblivion, as I usually had to do to find rest, wasn’t working. I’d just wake up, in the middle of the night, with the malevolence perched upon my breast. I was at a loss. I couldn’t take it anymore. Finally, in sheer desperation, I decided to do something I swore I would never do again. I had had enough and decided to try the unfathomable. I was going to pray.
Up until this point, I had considered myself to be a loud and proud unbeliever. I was completely agnostic of faith. My Jehovah’s Witness upbringing, and my mother’s fundamental Christian fervor resonated with me on some intangible level, but their dogmatic, vehement and egocentric intensity was off-putting, to say the least. Even as a small, precocious child I could perceive the absurdity of the adults around me ardently, yet foolishly, following the direction of their fallible figureheads for the sake of their own image, reputation, and approval of their tribe.
I loathed what I saw as insincere adherence. My mistrust of the people I was surrounded by was palpable. I could not believe that they truly believed, and since I was suffering because of their narcissistic conviction, I cursed the god that would leave me alone to endure this experience. I forsook the possibility of my potential as an infinite being in favor of fleeting vindication from various vices. I was adrift in doubt.
The only thing that kept me alive was my assumption that if I was going to survive it was as a consequence of the sheer strength of my will and personal fortitude. I put on my big-girl panties, tightened my bootstraps, and steered my way forward through the barrage of the storm. No one was going to save me. I had to save myself.
However, that night, something changed. With all hope lost, in my (literal) darkest hour, I surrendered. I thought of Kiera’s story, I remembered her genuine faith in God and in me, and I slowly, tentatively, timidly began a heartfelt and nervous prayer. I asked for forgiveness. I told Him/Her/Them that I knew that I had gone astray, turned my back, and proudly mocked their sanctity. I admitted my sinful nature. I acknowledged my brazen hedonism, and unapologetic insolence. In desperation, I begged, beseeched, and pleaded for help, in spite of my disgrace.
I did not have an inkling of confidence that I would be heard. I thought for sure that my insignificant request would be ignored. I had not a single expectation that I would find relief. But, as I'm sure can be assumed, I was wrong. I discovered, there in the shadows of my dorm room, that Kiera might actually have been right.
As I whispered into the silence, a warmth and calm began to flood my body. The heaviness upon my chest lightened, and my breath returned. I felt a peace, a light, a love within me that I had never experienced without the aid of some sort of chemical substance. In an instant, the ominous gloom was gone. The ruinous spell was broken and I was restored.
After that night, and impassioned prayer, my panic attacks completely ceased. I was never affected by them again. I became a believer, in something real, true and beyond my comprehension, and have never taken it for granted since. Kiera, without knowing or intentionally trying to convert this transgressor, had metamorphosed my soul.
I may not have found Jesus, changed my ways, and suddenly become an upstanding young citizen in the rapture of my redemption. The regrettable reality is that I continued to make horrible decisions, abuse myself and live dangerously. I dropped out of college, twice, and lived a lascivious life fueled by whatever drugs or alcohol I could get my delinquent little hands on in the years that followed.
Kiera cared for and trusted me, regardless. She even took a chance as my suitemate during our sophomore year until she decided to move out because I was keeping her up at night, and making her fearful of running into random strangers that I was partying with in our shared bathroom.
Sadly, that is how we left our relationship when we were last in contact. I knew that Kiera had no hard feelings, and that we were still friends. But, I was humiliated and ashamed that she couldn’t trust me. I knew I could have been better. I wanted to be just like her, but I just couldn’t. Not yet.
As time passed, I thought of her often. Sometimes I remembered her subtle athleticism when I jogged, worked out, or did yoga. I consistently compared my short, slightly (what I thought was) stocky, petite body to my memory of her longer, thin frame with a perfectly flat stomach.
When I got married, had children and found sobriety from substances by the grace of her God, without a program, by the sheer force of my will and Divine love, I wanted so much for her to see it. I wished I could find her and show her that I could amount to something. That I was, just as she somehow recognized in the throes of my ignorant immaturity, Divine and worthy. A child of God.
I missed Kiera. I wanted to reconnect. I longed for the friendship that I lost, that I was afraid to defend in my weakened, asinine, addicted state. I wanted more than anything to tell her, to thank her and to bear witness to my small-scale salvation, that she inspired so long ago.
I looked, but never found her. The years went on and my life became one that Kiera would have been proud to know, and I never had the opportunity to praise her inspirational grace. I will be forever remorseful, but will strive to live a life that pays homage to the exquisite friend that so magnificently influenced me and the woman that I have become. It is the very least I can do as I lament her loss.
So, as can it be seen, it is no surprise that Kiera’s passing through to the great beyond is such an impactful event in my life. I cannot imagine what it must mean to those who were so fortunate to be in her presence now, and throughout the years. I saw on an old college alumni post a description of Keira that sounded exactly as I imagined her to be: devoted wife, fabulous mother of five, and magnanimous member of her church and community. She was a unique Divine gift. A consummate child of a glorious God.
Kiera was and is an amazing and beautiful light that (seemingly) effortlessly illuminated the dark–even mine. I never felt worthy of her. And, though I strive every day to be better, now that I am no longer the “hood-rat” that she somehow had the grace to love, accept and frequently forgive so many years ago, I fear that I never may be. One thing that I do know for certain, is that beautiful Kiera taught me to trust, to love, and to believe. In myself, and something more.
I honestly, unabashedly, and proudly believe in angels to this day. And know in my heart, with all that I am, that she is one of them. May they guide you to your rest, my dear friend. Thank you for loving me. I will always love you.
In loving memory of someone who believed in me and loved me unconditionally, when I didn’t believe that I was in any condition to be loved.
