Dear Chicago,

I would like to start writing to you more often. Communication is important in any healthy relationship, and if we want this to work out I think I owe you a thank you.

Grand & Morgan.

I arrived at school today with one minute to spare- the place where I first felt academically and socially accepted. Coming from a large public school, then choosing to apply to an independent institution came more from a place of academic frustration than any real logic. But it was a choice I eventually became grateful for. Bennett's academic curriculum, small class sizes, and collaborative structure made it possible to thrive academically, while gaining emotional fulfillment. This education was a risk worth taking, and because of your city's many innovative schools, something I am now committed to continuing in the future.

Hyde Park & Woodlawn.

Chicago,

Your official motto is urbs in horto, "city in a garden," but in the winter your cold is unforgiving and green is all but absent from the neighborhood color palette. Walking down Hyde Park's beautiful residential streets, I hear people exchanging warm hometown niceties with complete strangers. Bumping into someone, we exchange a collective "ope." Across the street I can see two neighbors bickering over who has "dibs" to a snowed-over parking space, on which one has placed a plastic lawn chair. Eventually the other gives up, leaving him proud he held his ground. Thank you for your people, who taught me compassion, but also to have big shoulders.

State & 35th.

Thank you for keeping your skyline lit as I walked to my dorm room late that night, letting me take in the view after the fourth full day of drafting. As I left the Crown Hall School of Architecture and went down the sprinkler-misted fields of campus, your lights kept me awake. Thank you for reminding me why I love architecture and urban design, and why, despite fatigue, I returned again early the next morning.

Michigan & Jackson.

Dear Chicago,

Thank you for accepting me; for caringly watching over the child wearing a colorful dress as they ran down the street. Thank you for having residents that wouldn't bat an eye at my painted nails. Thank you for giving me the confidence to hold hands with a boy in public. Thank you for having a large LGBTQ+ community I can rally behind, allowing me to become a leader and writer speaking on queer issues.

Pulaski & Adams.

Thank you for the rich opportunities you have granted me. After placing as finalists, then winning the 2021-22 CAF Newhouse Competitions, I celebrated with my teammates; it was a joyful moment in which we were able to thank each other for our hard work and continued support of one another. But after the festivities, I decided to visit our site in West Garfield Park. As I approached the vacant lot, I began to envision what the library and community center would look like, and how it could transform the way people live. At this moment I realized I wanted to pursue urban planning and public policy- and promised myself I would stop at nothing to bring these visions to life.

Dear Chicago,

Thank you for making me who I am today, for allowing me to discover myself, and accepting me, even when individuals did not. Thank you for setting a global example in the fields of architecture, government, social justice, and many others- and for your many incredible, unique citizens being a source of artistic inspiration for my future. Even if I leave your confines, I will one day return.

And oh, did I forget to mention? Don't hate me...I actually live in the suburbs. Hope this doesn't mean we have to break up.

With love, Alex

I moved into my house, and it needed a new roof (so badly that my HO ins dropped me), and it had four dead or dying trees. I got a new roof and removed the trees.

When on my deck soon after, I noticed a larger bird with a red crest flying again and again into a window frame of one of my bedrooms. I (comically) yelled loudly at it, NO no no, hoping it didn't break my window. I wondered if it was a woodpecker with its red head, but also noticed it didn't resemble other woodpeckers I had seen.

A few days later, at night, I walked on to the juliet balcony off my bedroom. There was the SAME bird, lying lifeless, right at my feet. It was stunning- stark black and white stripes, pale yellow and a shock of red orange on its head. I gasped when I lifted it up, so soft and light. I wrapped it in a scarf that I had bought with Amelia and Lily, which felt appropriate because it had butterflies, birds and flowers on it. The next morning, I buried it, still carefully wrapped in the scarf, in my yard.

After downloading the free trial for a bird identification app, I found it was a yellow-bellied sapsucker. They're only found in our area during migration periods, such as spring. They're temporary here, not permanent.

Why did this bird choose to show itself to me? I had seen it struggling to do something by flying into my window frame. And it did not die somewhere hidden, it had laid to rest right at my feet outside my bedroom balcony.

What is the cosmic message the universe was telling me? Am I to feel guilt and remorse for fixing my roof and removing the trees, likely unhoming it?

After days of rolling it around in my brain like rolling a hard candy around my mouth, I think the lesson is this.

We go about this, often difficult life, doing what we can and what we think is right. And sometimes, unknowingly and without any mal intent, we do harm. Should I not have replaced my roof or cut down the trees? Should I have paid more attention to the bird knocking against my window frame? What could I or should I have done differently??

The answer is that I could do nothing. That is not my place here on earth. I am here to live my own life, and that is all I am allowed and intended to do. We cannot always prevent harm. It is sometimes inevitable. And as forlorn that is, it is truth. We could not have done anything differently.

Soon after Alex died last year, I was offering samples at a grocery store in Rogers Park. An older couple approached my table and somehow the subject of Alex came up. I shared what happened, and the woman said, Well I'm a psychic. Huh, ok. And she said "Alex was never really here, on earth. Alex was a whisper, a vapor, never meant to stay. The world was not for her, nor she for this place. Alex is now where she belongs."

Alex was stunningly beautiful, a delicate soul, just passing through. Flying elsewhere- migrating to somewhere better, more permanent. And it was not our place to stop that from happening. Alex is where she should be, done with her difficult migration, finally at peace.

I have so many warm memories of Alex—especially the image of her giggling into her hands, wearing wacky socks with rolled-up jeans, squeezed onto a couch with friends, or working intently on her computer on something amazing. There was always something.

But one memory that stands out comes from a more difficult moment. The first time Alex became upset with me was during a stressful time at the end of the school year. She had multiple projects piling up and a looming deadline for an architecture project she was working on outside of school. At the end of class, I asked her about an assignment—and she snapped at me. I was stunned. It had never happened before.

It was so rare to see Alex say exactly what was on her mind in the moment, to self-advocate, and to let her guard down—all at once like that. We went for a walk to talk things through. And the whole time, I remember thinking, “I’m in.”

As strange as it sounds, a small, selfish part of me recognized that Alex trusted me enough to show what she was feeling. She let me see a piece of herself that she didn’t often share. And I feel so lucky to have been connected to her and to have been a part of her life.

Alexandra was a student in my video art class last year. Studio classes can be time intense. They require a lot of shared in-class time, sometimes heated discussion, and a lot of work outside of class. Though the course was only ten weeks, we would spend six hours together every week, discussing the themes and ideas around various examples for class, new techniques, as well as critiquing each other’s work. One of the joys of teaching is what I learn from my students as I try to prepare them for lifelong creative inquiry. Though timid at first, Alexandra was a thoughtful and bright student. Their understanding of media representation, and the language used to describe it, exceeded their age considerably. Alexandra was unafraid of difficult questions. They were active on campus in various justice campaigns, and they brought this to the work they made, and through the care directed toward classmates. Alexandra had a wonderful way of speaking truth gently, sometimes in an almost whispered voice, but with words which impassioned our conversations. At times, I looked to Alexandra almost as a collaborator in classroom discussion. If things ever hit a lull, I would turn to Alexandra and ask, “what do you think?” I appreciate when students push back against me. It makes things more interesting and helps the students develop their own ways of thinking. Alexandra was not afraid to question. Behind the quiet was a lot of courage.

After my course, I saw Alexandra around the department a few times this past year. We would often say hello, and we talked about their ongoing interest in art. I believe they were taking a drawing class at the time and were really enjoying it. They were considering an art minor, which I encouraged.

As you all endure the grief and loss (because I think that’s all we ever do with the loss of those we love), know that, although their life was cut short, Alexandra was already making impacts, including on this instructor. Though I wish I could have seen Alexandra as they worked toward graduation, I am glad that they, if only briefly, graced my life with their compassion and courage.

We got together in late May to remember Alex together.

It was upstairs from the apartment of Aunt Jen, who also mentored Alex as a part-time sous chef in her soup startup.

If you look over the balcony, you can see both the CTA Purple Line and the Union Pacific North.

On a clear day, you can also see Chicago, the city that Alexandra loved. You can see the John Hancock building, where we once did a charity race to climb the 1,632 steps to the top. Alex would sprint ahead a few flights, taking two steps at a time, then stop and return back down the stairs to check on me.

There are so many more things that we were going to do together. We were going to take another bike tour, focusing on the very best architectural arches of Chicago. We were going to learn if Sydney finally takes over the restaurant in Season 4 of "The Bear."

I'm sure that we were going to continue the debate over whether Lake Shore Drive should be turned into a boulevard with "at-grade" crossing spots. I was hopeful to get the debrief on the "Speed Run," where some classmates planned to traverse the entire CTA network with hopes of setting a new record.

I can't believe that these things won't happen.

We learned of Alex's passing around 8:15am on Monday morning. Since then, I've been second guessing, pouring over photos and artwork, looking for answers and explanations. I didn't find them. I haven't found any. I doubt I ever will, but I will keep trying, if for no other reason than I have been learning other things.

I already knew that Alex was loved by her family, but I learned how much Amelia and Lily appreciated her creativity and attention to detail. I also learned a little bit about Grandpa Bill's brother Rick. I learned that Alex picked up every time Grandma Sandy and Grandpa Greg called. I learned that planting green beans and tomatoes is a good way to grieve.

Even though I knew how much Alex was loved, I couldn't help but have some self-doubt about whether Alex knew it. Or knew it enough. I'm so grateful that some of Alex's friends were able to affirm that she felt loved these past few days.

I was also worried whether Alex had found people who loved her at school, but I've since learned that she had.

I learned from Melisa that Alex was the first to volunteer and the last to leave. I learned from Adrienne that she was "a very well respected activist on campus," taking leadership positions for causes focused on protecting the vulnerable. I learned from Wren that Harley Clarke was a favorite place to look at the Lake, and Annie May Swift Hall was her favorite building on campus. I learned that Alex loved vexillology, which means the study of flags and their symbolism.

I learned from River that they drew together during Wildcat Welcome. A beautiful prairie style building on a hill. It's a familiar one because it's hung right next to Alex's desk at home. I learned that one time, a Judi Dench look-alike unsuccessfully tried to play matchmaker to Alex in the dining car of the California Zephyr train from San Francisco back to Chicago. I got to meet Avery and Shepherd, the kind and charismatic students slated to be Alex's roommates next year. They were going to live a block east from where we are sitting.

I learned from Matt, a former administrator, that national politics are having a devastating impact on vulnerable kids at universities.

I learned from Edward that Alex found a friend with a passion for public transportation. 5 weeks ago, Alex ejected from our spring break adventure for a few hours so that Edward could show her the Ocean Parkway station, I think famous for being built on a viaduct and its decorative ceramic tiles. I learned that Alex had a favorite CTA stop. I bet it's the Quincy stop, having first opened in 1897 and keeping its old wooden and iron features.

I'm so grateful to these kids for helping me feel like I learned that Alex was really known and Alex was really loved. It brings an ounce of comfort but also pounds and pounds of sadness. But still, an ounce of comfort.

I don't want to ever forget anything. I don't want you to forget anything. I know I'll remember her when I hear the rumble of a Metra train, when I get confused, yet again, over the difference between a leftist and a socialist, and when I open the lid to "Ticket to Ride."

I'll remember her when I see a kid playing Minecraft or drawing buildings. Also adults. Maybe even together, when I hug my other daughters, and when I step onto the Thunder Mountain Railway for the wildest ride in the wilderness. I'll remember her when I wince quietly after hearing someone call the plural of Lego... Legos. I hope she will be proud when I choose the subway over an Uber.

But mainly, I'll think of Alex when I see someone perform an act of gentle kindness to a fellow human being. That was her, all of the time.

Alex shared a lot of her best characteristics with her mom. The creativity. The empathy. The courage to try all kinds of foods if someone else was excited about them.

Kim and Alex loved Winnie the Pooh. I found a quote from A.A. Milne that maybe fits the occasion. It reads:

"How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard."

Alex, I miss you so much.

I honestly don't know where to start. Even though I only knew Alex for a year and a half, there were so many memories about her that I could go on forever. She was such a kind, sweet, and caring person and I am afraid that my words here can't fully illustrate this.

I guess I can start in the beginning of our freshman year. I remember meeting Alex for the first time. 10/10/2023, in the evening. I was getting dinner at Plex, and I saw River, and I sat down with them. River was sitting next to Alex, and River introduced me to Alex, and how River was just talking about our mutual interest in infrastructure. Immediately, Alex and I clicked. We both started to talk about everything, from CTA, MTA, the railroads, and everywhere in between. At the end, we both exchanged contact information and promised to meet up.

We met about a week later at Foster on the Purple Line. While we were heading to Chicago, Alex asked me where we were going. I told her that I wanted to take the Congress Branch because there was some old infrastructure and the CTA just wrapped up reconstruction work between UIC and Illinois Medical District that supposedly made the trains run faster. When she heard that, Alex gave a look of apprehension, but didn't say much other than, "okay." The moment I stepped onto that Blue Line train and started to go slowly near UIC, I understood why. The entire line is still under slow zones, and we were crawling at 5 mph. Lesson learned.

That wasn't the only lesson I learned from Alex. I learned so much about architecture from Alex. And while I am more of a utilitarian, which Alex would have not liked, it was still so interesting to hear Alex talk about the different buildings in Chicago. During the end of my first quarter, myself and Alex found ourselves in Wicker Park. And I was looking for some remnants of an old station, Logan Sq. Without even hesitating, Alex pointed to a building and said this was where the old station is. That was because the building differed from the surrounding buildings, and if she never pointed it out, I would have never thought to check.

I was never bored with her. As a New Yorker, CTA wait times were atrocious, but with Alex, I wished that those wait times were longer so I spent more time with her. The highlight of the quarters was going to Chicago with Alex, where she would share so much history about Chicago with me, and I would always be blown away by her intellect and her attention to detail. I remember spending time in the Loop, and especially near State/Buren and LaSalle, she would point out all the buildings in the vicinity. She loved Quincy too, and she pointed out the old architecture of the station, and how the maps shown there were from 1964.

We had our fair share of discussions and debates. During winter quarter, 2024, Alex and I walked around Ravenswood. It was a bustling place, just like Wicker Park is, and as we were walking around and taking trains, we were talking about a potential Brown Line extension from Kimball. Originally, I pitched the idea of extending the line to Jefferson Park, because that is the ridership base and seemed like the more natural alignment. Alex profusely disagreed, and said she wanted it extended to Montrose. We had a discussion, where we talked about ridership statistics, induced demand, connectivity to Metra, and redeveloping Montrose. And in the end, she had a point. The Brown Line should be extended to Montrose. After all, you are extending the Brown Line to intersect with the Blue Line for connectivity, why not increase that connectivity with the two Metra Lines in the area?

A few days ago, YouTube served me a video: Why Chicago's Express Train Isn't Really Express. Under any other circumstance, this would be an absolute gem of a video, but after Alex's passing, I couldn't stop crying while watching the video. Especially at 14:15, where the idea presented was a variation of what she always wanted for the Purple Line. This was actually one of the first ideas we chatted about back when we first met, when I brought up the topic of how I hate the Purple Line is not an express train because it stops at stations the Red Line skips and how the 7 express back in NYC would eat the line for breakfast. This was a topic that illuminated Alex, where she brought up her plan to make the line more useful. It was basically running the Purple Line as is until Belmont, where it switches onto Red Line tracks, through the State St Subway. Then, it would take the old 13th St Portal Connection, and onto the Green Line, and take over a branch so that Cottage Grove and Englewood Branch riders wouldn't have to wait 24 minutes for a train. I joked to her that the Purple Line should take over the Englewood Branch because Northwestern shouldn't be directly connected to the University of Chicago. However, later, when I was exploring the idea, and running some tests, that joke I made to Alex became the most optimal way to run that type of service. According to Census Maps, Cottage Grove prefers the West Loop, which means the Green Line is better suited, while Englewood prefers the Northside, which means the Purple Line is better suited.

When Alex came to NYC, I was so excited that she got to experience the subway again. I asked her which train she wanted to take, and she asked what train was good to take? I joked that we should take the R train through the City Hall S Curve so that our eardrums would get blown out, and she obviously said no. Eventually, she decided that she wanted to take the Brighton express. I was like, amazing choice, so we got a B train to Brighton Beach. The express run from Herald Sq to West 4th St is one of my favorites, and I constantly asked her whether this was better than the CTA and its slow zones. She always said yes. At one point, she asked where we should end up after Brighton Beach. I suggested Ocean Parkway, because it demonstrates a quirk in Dual Contract planning. Under the Dual Contracts of the NYC Subway, whenever an elevated train goes over a major road, like Ocean Parkway, the station is made out of concrete. I thought she appreciated it because it involves some nice architecture and history and she did.

On our way back from Ocean Parkway, she wanted to take the Franklin Ave shuttle because it is mostly single tracked, and then she asked what train we should take next, as she needed to get back. I suggested taking the C one stop to Nostrand Ave, because it is also a quirky station. It was designed as a local station, but while construction, the IND changed their minds and made it an express. As a result, unlike other standard IND express stations, where there are two island platforms with four tracks, Nostrand Ave has two levels. I remember walking around Nostrand Ave with Alex, because a new exit recently opened that shows the true scale of the station.

It has been such an honor knowing Alexandra Hoffmann for a year and a half. I always thank River for introducing me to Alex that day, because I didn't know whether our paths would cross at all anywhere else. I guess there were other instances in the Plex dining hall where Alex, River, and I were together, and at those times, River would have introduced me to her, but I am glad River introduced me to Alex as soon as they did. That is because I appreciate the amount of things Alex and I did together. I appreciated her willingness to teach me Chicago history and CTA. I appreciated her willingness to sit with me during Astronomy and IR lecture. I appreciated her willingness to study with me. I appreciated her replying to my texts, no matter how small it was. I appreciated her willingness to share pictures of where she was, whether it be in Minneapolis riding the LRT, or in San Francisco riding BART, or at the Daily Show. Most importantly, I appreciate her just being there for me. And I wish I could reciprocate even ten percent of what she did for me, because she did so much for me. I miss her.

The first memory is from years ago, when we all visited Sequoia National Park. I'm not sure why this memory of all things always stuck with me, but it was me, Alex and Nathaniel, and we were exploring this ditch together behind a parking lot, right after eating breakfast. I remember only going down into the ditch because Alex wanted to explore it, and after a while we decided to time ourselves to see how fast we could get back to the top. When me and Alex were racing back to the top, I remember a feeling of childlike excitement and joy. At the beginning of that day I was feeling very down, but that was the moment that turned it around, just doing a silly childish thing with my friend. I'm not sure why that memory stuck with me, but it's one of my favorite from being a kid, and it wouldn't have happened without Alex. I always admired Alex for how adventurous she was. I tried to act like a leader, but a lot of the time I felt like Alex was really the one leading. She always seemed like she knew what she was doing, and she gave me the confidence to step out of my comfort zone and try things I probably wouldn't have done if not for her.

Another memory I have was from a few years ago, when I visited you guys in Chicago and stayed at your house. Me and Alex went out to explore one of those nights, and walked on to a beach. We climbed to the top of some lifeguard chair and just sat and talked. I remember running around the beach in the dark, and following Alex since I had no idea where I was. I was also going through a bit of a difficult time, but I talked to Alex about it and she gave me advice that really helped me feel better, and I've always been grateful to her for it.

The next memory I have was from December 2023. Me and Alex sat in the hotel lobby in Florida, pretty late at night, and were just talking about a lot of things. I had just gotten my heart broken a couple weeks before, so I was probably at one of the lowest points in my life. Just being able to confide in someone I trusted and cared about really made a difference. She helped me feel like things were gonna be okay. Alex always listened with such compassion and care, I always felt safe talking to her. She truly was one of my best friends.

The last memory I have with Alex was in March, when she came to visit me at Brandeis. She's the first one of my friends who visited me at school, so I was really excited to show her around and just hang out. We went to the Boston Public Library, which I had never been to before, and we both sat down and read books. She read this book on Armored Trains, which made me laugh, just because of course Alex chose a book about trains! I took a picture because I thought it was funny, and I added it to the email below. I went through another break up this year, but hanging out with Alex really took my mind off of it, and I just felt relaxed and at ease. I always felt like when I was with her I could just live in the moment and enjoy myself.

I have tons of memories like these with Alex.

Alex used to always apologize so often, because she thought she was boring me when she talked, but she never did. I always tried to tell her she never needs to apologize, I was just happy to be with her. She was one of my best friends. I trusted her more than I trust most people, and I wish we had more time together. Alex was unique. She was so knowledgeable on topics that most people knew nothing about. She cared so much about her friends, and was willing to make huge sacrifices most others probably would not be willing to make. She taught me so much, and she was always someone I was proud to call my friend.

The loss of someone as amazing as Alex isn't easy on anyone. I have found myself reminding and reminiscing about the moments we've had together in an effort to find peace in this time. There were times I remember and things I wish I said to her.

I remember poking fun about the goofy name for your lego club, as I thought "Squids, Pigs, and Chickens" doesn't make sense. But that's just the way you rolled. I remember creating crazy things in minecraft, like recreating some kind of subway stops, and how we would recruit Elliott and Miles in creating our creations. It's hard to think that the massive city you built in the world with help from all of us will sit in silence. You wanted the city to be bustling, a city that never slept. You used to laugh at me then, but I promise you that all the villagers in the stores and shops will keep the lights on even when you're gone. I remember playing with our siblings in her backyard. We jumped and jumped on that trampoline and probably were the reason why it broke. We would mess around in the little house in the back. I can't count how many times I smacked my head on the bar above the slide after not paying attention. I can't count how many times we asked her parents to set towels out for us because would play on the trampoline in the rain. I remember messing around and playing pranks on our younger siblings. Whether that be convincing herobrine was in their world, to convincing them there was a twin of yours that was sent away for being a bad child, we made up the craziest things! I remember when I first came to Bennett and people thought you were my older sister. I loved playing into it. We played into it as long as we could. We played into it so well that at the beginning I was referred to as your sibling. I remember trying to fix the record player in her living room. Alex, Elliott, and I were tinkering with it until we probably broke it instead. I remember running around your house with that Obama mask on until you were rolling around on the ground gasping for breath from laughing so hard. I remember getting so happy when my dad would tell me we would be meeting Alex at the football game. Even though she wasn't so interested in the football being played and would rather go down and get concessions. I remember making movies about lego in the little city corner she built in her basement. I remember how many things I wish I told her.

I wish I told Alex how much she inspired me. She got me interested in film and editing on iMovie, which is what I want to do in life. I wish I told her I wanted to do the CTA challenge with her. I wish I told her I decided on Bennett because I would be with one of my childhood friends. I wish I told her the things Jay told me about her essay inspired my essay. I wish I reached out more after graduation, I wish we talked more than we did. I hope she knows how much we will miss her, she had such a big impact on so many people. I truly am thankful for her being such an amazing human and being an inspiration to so many people.

I remember stealing chairs with Alex.

She was quiet that first year—so you’d never guess how much she would enjoy stealing chairs. Our advisory group sometimes took walks around the neighborhood, and on one of our very first walks, my ninth graders spotted four swivel chairs in an alley.

We figured they were being tossed or offered up. The idea of taking the chairs was…controversial. Some students thought we could use them at our new school. Others worried it was stealing. And a few just didn’t want to be the group picking trash out of an alley.

In the end, we walked the remaining quarter mile with those swivel chairs in tow, enduring all the looks from teachers and staff as we wheeled them through the halls and loaded them into the elevator. We were so proud of ourselves.

Alex was one of four students to drag a chair back, claim it, and decorate it with her name. And she dared anyone to sit in it for the rest of the year. The swivel chair kids became a small gang for just a little while. All this to say: Alex was creative, and silly—and maybe just a little fierce, and sneaky, too.

Alex was one of the purest souls I’ve ever known, nobody was more thoughtful or more genuine. She could light up a room, fill it with laughter and joy within seconds. Everyone who got to know Alex loved her, there was no other option. I wish she could’ve seen how much love fills the room today.

If you were ever lucky enough to receive a gift from Alex, you know how generous and considerate she was. She was so detail-oriented, a skill I will never possess nor understand. She noticed everything and did everything with a level of precision so that whenever she was done with a project, all it took was one look to tell how much time and effort was put into it. It was, and still is, amazing. When we were really little, we used to play this game on my mom’s computer, where you could build your own island. I’d spend a few minutes toying around, but eventually get bored and move on, but Alex could’ve stayed there forever, perfecting every facet of her own little world. For my birthday the following year, I received a drawing entitled “Amelia’s Island”. It was the perfect depiction of everything I could’ve wanted at the time, a castle with a rounded roof and big blocky windows, a swimming pool with a diving board and a floaty, a Cinderella-style horse and carriage and a Rapunzel-like tower, and a go-kart track like the one we’d race on in the summer. That drawing hung in my room for years, a reminder of how lucky I was to have a sibling who really knew and understood me. That’s the thing about Alex, she wasn’t observant for her own gain, but instead for the purpose of finding the small things that could make others happy.

She remembered everything and would often remind me of memories I’d long forgotten about. She was smart and somehow knew everything about everything, and you could get her talking for hours if you hit the right spot. It always left me with wonder, her ability to be so deeply knowledgeable on so many subjects. She was witty, and when we were little, she would make up silly tricks for me and Lily, convincing us our house was haunted every time a floorboard creaked or a door blew shut. She was really funny too, nobody could make my parents laugh like her. She wanted to name our dog, Dela, Znap. Z-N-A-P. Why? Just for kicks.

It’s unfathomable to think of the coming years without my older sibling. To think of my family as four, Lily as my only sibling, it’s not right. There will forever be an empty chair at our dinner table, an empty stocking hanging above the fireplace, an empty cubby by the back door. I know Alex’s absence will always be felt, and as hard as that is, it means she will always be remembered. Some of us were lucky enough to have twenty beautiful years of Alex, some fifteen, or ten, and maybe some of you just met her a year or two ago, but every single person who knew Alex was touched by her, and every one of us is forever changed through knowing her. Alex might no longer be here with us, no matter how much we wish she was, but she has left little pieces of herself in all of us, her empathy, kindness, honesty, bravery, and much more. I hope you all continue to live with a little of Alex’s spirit alive in you. Thank you to everyone for being here today, we appreciate your support now and in the years to come.

Alex was one of the best siblings you could ask for, I have always needed her as a part of my life, which is something I should have communicated to her more. Just spending time with her could always make you feel better and happier, and I hope she knew how much she affected those around her because she impacted so many lives. Alex had always made me feel safe, like whenever I had trouble sleeping when we were younger, I could go into Alex’s room and wake her up and ask to sleep there, and she wouldn’t ever get mad at me for waking her up in the middle of the night and she never said I couldn’t sleep in her room when I was scared, because she knew I needed to be with her those nights. And as soon as I lay down I fell asleep because I felt safe. And though I don’t get scared at night anymore, I still need her just as much and even more than I did then. Everyone will always need Alex in their life, and I hope she knew how much.

Lyrics to song written based on some of the stories:

You should have lived in Wicker Park
You would have loved the older buildings
There would have been enough new restaurants
To keep you fed and always interested
But if you’d drifted to the suburbs
The city would have forgiven you
Candles in the windows after dark
And we’d have visited you
And your friends
In Wicker Park

Even now through all my tears
I can’t help thinking of your laugh
How you kept the glasses filled
Sparkling wine from the carafe
Do you know how your friends admired you?
Even your teachers held you special
And you were destined for importance
Visions held for something crucial

Oooh and now with every breath
And with every step and everything I do
I’m gonna breathe a little extra deep
Cause now I’m breathing for you

How do the clouds still just move along
How do we keep singing our song

You should have lived in Wicker Park
You would have loved the older buildings
There would have been enough new restaurants
To keep you fed and always interested
But if you’d drifted to the suburbs
The city would have forgiven you
Candles in the windows after dark
And we’d have visited you
And your friends
In Wicker Park

Oooh and now with every breath
And with every step and everything I do
I’m gonna breathe a little extra deep
Cause now I’m breathing for you