PROVIDENCE – Last week, many of us here in Providence and beyond received hideous news. Court King passed away very unexpectedly. My heart is broken. I don’t know how to do this. I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to learn how to live without one of my best friends by my side.

The beautiful thing is that Court had very deep, very unique relationships with so many people. That’s how big her personality and heart was. I am hardly the only person to love and be loved by her the way that I did. She had so many people who had a piece of her heart, and it brings me comfort to know that she’s still with us in a sense. Her people carry her with them.

I want to be clear that my grief is community grief – that I am one piece of a devastated puzzle of people who called her theirs. One of the reasons our friendship could be as strong as it was, is that we were highly protective of each other, but not at all possessive. I loved hearing about other beloved people in her life and all the adventures they would have together. Open hearts and open hands – that is how we loved each other.

In the days since getting the call, I have loved connecting with more people who were also hers. People who saw her for the ridiculously funny and smart gift she was. People who saw how vibrant and real she was. The only thing that is making anything feel OK right now is connecting with her chosen family, and reminiscing together. Ash, Marianna, and Hadiel in particular – thank you for being here with me.

Court was my platonic great love. We were instantly close. She and I were chosen family for close to a decade.

On the surface, we were the odd couple – and we laughed about that frequently. You’d be hard pressed to find two women who looked so different. But it was a shared absurd sense of humor, love of children, ability to laugh at dysfunction and mental health challenges, commitment to racial and social justice, and that indescribable quality of immediate friendship that bonded us together. I truly believe that our souls recognized each other.

The ability to connect.  
Court had the ability to cut through the bullshit and connect to the heart of whatever was at hand: the person, the situation, the dynamic. We didn’t shy away from the hard things. My experience in the world was different from hers – and we didn’t sugarcoat that. I am a white woman and she was a heavy Black woman. I always told her that I would leverage any privilege I had to the fullest extent for her, and in one situation, we told clinicians that we were partners so that I could stay with her. I sternly put a clinician in their place for the way they were speaking to Court, and let them know that I was watching with my full attention. We giggled frequently about that.

We both had adversity that cut deep and could sit with each other in the pain.We didn’t try to fix things, or give advice. We could just be ourselves, unfiltered and broken. And we met each other where we were.

And the joy! My god, the joy. She had a wellspring of laughter and joy. I have never met someone who had the capacity to hold the complexities of life so clearly – and to still, despite the madness, crack the funniest joke about it all. No one was funnier with their words and expressions and head tilts. 

Chosen families    
Court adored my daughter. My little one was a toddler when Court came into our lives, and they had their own relationship altogether. She called my daughter her niece and we often daydreamed about taking trips with my daughter and her beloved niece Nay. Chatted about what fun the girls would get up to and how we’d have to bail them out of trouble. Talked about the commune we’d eventually live on, and how many awesome friends we’d have with us.

All of that was snatched away. I want it back. I am devastated.

I wrote this the day after receiving the news, and I wanted to share it here.

My baby Court —

I love you.

I am so proud of you, how far you went and how hard you worked. You healed. You pushed yourself. You learned to lean into rest. You got your goddamned Masters and finally made it out to California like you always dreamed of. You loved on the little Court you once were. You gave grace.

You made sure that your people knew how much they meant to you. You followed up. You checked in. You loved on your people 

You faced things that many people will never know about or encounter, and you defied the odds on so many levels.

You made me laugh so fucking hard just by being you. Your expressions and head tilts and commentary were THE funniest.

You deserved so much more — more laughter, more ice cream, more sneakers, more sunsets, more naps, more ridiculous humor and insane observations on humans being human. More playlists and blueberry muffins and good coffee and summer nights. More softness, more love, more travel, more relaxation, more time. You deserved so much more.

From the day we met, I knew you were special. I’m so glad I got to reflect some of that light back onto you. Years of unconditional love and support — it changed me. 

I don’t want to hear that it was “your time” or that god called you home. Right now all I want is to see you send me ridiculous shit on this platform and to get some voice memos about how your day went. I know they say not to take life for granted, Courty, but why, my god, why did you have to go?

My love. Rest now.

I hate that this is where our road ends in this lifetime. But it’s time to rest now.

I hope that you have an endless supply of treats and pillows in the biggest most cozy bed that heaven has to offer and that you’re catching up with Carolannie as I write this.

I love you from the bottom of my heart, coco. I’ll spend the rest of my life missing you.

Katherine ‘Katy’ Linwood is a regular contributor to ConvergenceRI, writing a monthly column, “The Bright Side,” about sobriety.  Connect with her on IG @katherinelinwood