She Wore Scarlet Begonias

On milestones, complicated grief and superpowers

Hi Friends,

Today, May 30th, is the birthday of Neal Keven Benzel, my daughter’s beloved father who left them way too soon. Losing a parent as a child causes what is know as “complicated grief,” a complex, intense and prolonged condition where sadness can often “interfere with daily life and well-being.” Witnessing my two daughters navigate and move forward with such strength and grace despite this life-altering loss has been the most rewarding experience in my life.

Last year I shared my daughter Anna’s essay, "Cherry Garcia" which also references their late father’s deep love for Jerry Garcia. Today’s essay, written by Willa Begonia Benzel (yes, she was named after the Grateful Dead song Scarlet Begonia) is simply beautiful. With her permission, I am sharing her stunning essay about this song and her daddy in honor of his birthday and to celebrate her high school graduation next week. I hope it encourages someone to write about their loss, or to reach out for support. Birthdays, graduations (this year we had two, college and high school) and especially Father’s Day are not easy, especially when they come bull dozing at your emotions one after the other, all in the span of one month. But as Hemingway said, “the world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places.” Willa, I know your strength will carry you far, but your tenderness will carry you even further…keep on dancing!

Neal Benzel hanging out at a Grateful Dead concert, probably mid80”s somewhere on the East Coast

Here is the essay:

"She wore scarlet begonias tucked into her curls."

My dad, a devout Grateful Dead fan, reaches behind him to grab my hand, belting these lyrics to my older sister and I. We roll our eyes, laughing at these lyrics that are so often sung. My dad saw me in this song: free-spirited, passionate, and vulnerable. To him, these traits were superpowers; they made me unique, and capable of getting through life’s hardships. I fought against this uniqueness because I longed to blend in. Now, I understand that these superpowers make me who I am.

“I knew right away she was not like other girls, other girls.”

The death of my father in 2018 branded me as different. Parent’s Night was my worst nightmare. My mom, dressed in what I call her uniform, an Ecuadorian poncho, filled the room with dreams of elaborate art projects for my middle school; I longed to disappear, to jump into the car and hide. The way I saw it, my friends all had one parent who networked with the teachers, and another that socialized with parents. Not having this option terrified me, and what petrified me even more were the questions that followed. I often lied and said my dad passed away due to an illness like cancer, because it made it easier—it muted the shame. I drove every conversation away from the topic of suicide, riddled with its fear of judgement. Even now, as I type the word—suicide — my fingers stutter over the keyboard. My own life felt like a dark song that I was too young to listen to.

“The sky was yellow and the sun was blue."

March 2020: the pandemic hit. Suddenly, I was isolated. My routine became: sleep, isolation, more sleep, repeat. A relentless loop that seemed to stretch on indefinitely. The grief over my father’s death became overwhelming. The gloomy skies of March brought along with it a diagnosis of depression, finally putting a name to my spiral. Depression distorted my thinking, and in a world that was shutting down on us, I began to shut down on myself.

“Once in a while, you get shown the light / In the strangest of places if you look at it right."

As the days slipped by, the glimpses of April sun was accompanied by a shift. I finally could focus my attention on something other than Zoom and my pain. The reason for this shift was small, furry, and liked to hide in drawers. A small paw reached for me, momentarily setting the darkness and pain aside, and a light flickered. The stray kitten my mom brought home became my unexpected savior. His comedic need for attention drew me out of bed. I felt joy again. My routine shifted: sleep, nourish, engage, and repeat. The darkness that once felt like it was never going to pass was suddenly replaced with moments of joy and light.

At a young age I experienced a crushing loss, but the stillness of the pandemic gave me the space to truly feel the sadness. If I learned to live with this loss then surely I could overcome the typical predicaments of a teen. I have learned to balance my empathy with something I thought I had lost: hope for the future and a will to persevere.

Scarlet Begonias is not simply a song. Begonia is my middle name, a tribute to my dad, a connection to his roots, and the song that carried me through darkness. As I embark on the next chapter of my journey—attending college—I carry its lessons close: that life is fleeting, and that even in the face of loss, there is always hope and light to be found. As the lead singer of the Grateful Dead, Jerry Garcia, once said, “sometimes we live no particular way but our own,” and that’s exactly what I will continue to do.

P.S. Here is BONUS track, a favorite video of a young Willa B jamming out in the backseat of a car….