Taylor Swift, Music, Culture, Death and dying
As I sat in a park during the pandemic, listening to the Evermore album on my headphones, one song finally released the grief that I’d pent up for five years
When the pandemic hit in 2020, it had been five years since my sister, Emily, had died. She had lived with cystic fibrosis her whole life, yet we were a close, tactile family. We laughed, hugged and sang often. When Emily died, relatively suddenly, aged 30 (I was 27), I coped with it as well as anyone could. In fact, I prided myself on how outwardly resilient I seemed: I spoke to a therapist, started a new job. I poured myself into a packed diary and a big city.
It wasn’t until time stopped, in a way, in 2020, that I really sat with my grief. I was forced to – made redundant like so many others that summer, my days had no shape. Like many people living in city flatshares, my one little freedom was a daily walk.
Continue reading… The Guardian
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