tiny kelsie

I think a lot about Meghan Raveis, a mom in my town who I never met. Last summer she was hit by a car while walking down her own street. It was her 45th birthday. She was walking against traffic, as pedestrians should. Her oldest child was 16 at the time of her death.

Meghan Raveis was hit by a car driven by a woman with her same name, with the same specific spelling, and the same first initial of her last name: Meghan Rice. The car swerved over a double yellow line, hit a mailbox, and ended Meghan Raveis’ life on the anniversary of her birth. There were three children in the car, whom Meghan Rice was tasked with caring for and keeping safe—she was their nanny.

There’s already a lot to unpack here. But the similarities between the two Meghans likely end at their names. Meghan Raveis was rich. Really rich. She’s survived by her father-in-law, William “Bill” Raveis Jr., founder of William Raveis, the largest family-owned real estate brokerage company in the Northeast—to the tune of about $21 billion dollars, if you ask Google’s Ai.

I’ve never met either Meghan R.. Raveis’ death occurred while my family was overseas. When we arrived back in town it was a frequent topic of conversation–some days had passed before details went public and everyone was astonished by the tragedy and curious to know more. Police had to ensure a crime took place. Rice called the police right after the incident. No signs of drugs or alcohol in her system. Her cell phone was used only to call 911.

I quickly learned that I would pass the accident four times a day, five times a week, for the following month. I passed the makeshift memorial and watched as white flower petals wilted to beige and then brown. I watched as stiff bouquet stems went limp. I drove past investigators with a measuring tape collecting evidence for trial. I took notice when the bouquets were no longer there, replaced at first by the browned grass where they once lay, and later covered up in mats of grass just as green as the surrounding area. As if nothing ever happened.

Devastating tragedy, yes. Freak accident? Perhaps the most defining I’ve ever been in proximity of. The birthday, the names. It was a haunting enough story if I hadn’t driven past the memorial eighty times in that first month.

Raveis’ Road

Her street, Redding Road, now has all of the bells and whistles that help with dangerous roads: narrowed lanes, signs alerting drivers to the speed they’re going, divots in the center lane that create a dramatic, bumpy experience if one makes the mistake of veering over. Word is that Bill footed the bill, though he didn’t go on to advocate for more safe roads throughout the town of Fairfield.

Redding Road was the location of another tragedy. On July 4, 2020, Marileidy Morel Araujo was vacationing in Fairfield with her fiancé and others. When she went for a walk with her dog, a drunk volunteer firefighter going 55 MPH in a 25 MPH zone committed a fatal hit and run. Maybe the town was able to overlook clear infrastructure issues because of high speed, intoxication. Or would her death have been treated differently, too, if she was a resident? If she was white and rich? If it hadn’t happened during the height of covid?

We’ll never know. Marileidy’s death wasn’t the impetus for the changes that needed to occur on that road, but it could have been. She was just as worthy as Meghan.

Meghan Raveis’ Legacy

I still drive that way regularly. I think of what I learned from Raveis’ obituary. She left behind a legacy. With wealth comes opportunity, and she used that privilege to head up charitable events and raise millions of dollars for scientific research. She had three kids, loving relationships with family and friends. In a local publication she mentioned that she had taken up abstract painting. She was heavily involved in the community, well loved. From what people said, she seemed like a beacon of light–then in a flash, she was gone.

Meghan Rice’s Legacy

Investigators concluded that Meghan Rice was driving 31 MPH in a 25 MPH zone. Six miles over the speed limit. Do you know how many times you’ve been 6+ miles over the speed limit? I don’t. I do know that now when I speed, the thought of this tale of two Meghans crosses my mind. Six miles over the speed limit, and she has to live with the weight of extreme consequences. She killed three children’s mother. Three children will graduate high school, go to college, get married, have kids, without their mom. She made a man a widow, she traumatized an additional three children who witnessed the accident. The owners of the home where the grass has all grown back in knows that someone died there, every time they want to admire their trophy abode. She may serve time, she was released on a $100,000 bond. The consequences she has to live with are atypical for someone who was driving 6 miles over the speed limit.

What is the legacy you want to leave behind?

I want others to speak of the light I bring to others, the way they spoke of Meghan Raveis.

I want my sons to grow to be morally sound men who lead values-based lives and enrich the lives of others.

I want my kindness and creativity to have a rippling effect. I’d love to write, paint, draw, create things that make other people want to write, paint, draw, create things of their own. And theirs to inspire others.

I want my garden to keep more animals alive, sequester carbon, help save the world. I want to teach more people about how they can play a similar small role in planet regeneration through reforestation and meadow growing.

we only have so long

I think about Meghan often because there are many stimulus that bring up the reminder of her death, a reminder that life is fleeting and that it can be cut short in an instant.

we have so long

Outside of freak accidents, longevity is soaring. I think of Louise Bourgeois, a multidisciplinary artist who transitioned to printmaking when she was in her 80’s and 90’s. She died at 98, creating until the very end.

I think, too, of Iris Apfel. An icon we lost only months ago, at the age of 102. She was still peaking at 102–new collaborations with brands such as Ruggable and H&M. Her recent death inspired me to learn more about her, and I channel her as I browse through accessories at estate sales.

staying alive

Lastly, I think of my paternal grandmother and grandfather. Through adopting my father, they graced my life, but I don’t stand alone. They transformed four people and their lineage through adoption and also everyone they came in contact with–through their extreme warmth.

Yesterday I had an awful day. One terrible thing after another, some big and terrible, some small and compounding. As a result, today I treated myself to a visit to the antique store. My Granny and Pappy loved antiques, filled their home with them. They once had a store of their very own and even after that they went to garage sales every Sunday morning like it was their religion.

When I go to an antique store, I feel wrapped in their warmth. I feel the unconditional care they had for me that was likely the foundation for my ability to weather my storms. It’s not a particular item that makes me feel this way. Surrounding myself with old things offered a second chance does this. It’s as if their love, combined with this unique interest of theirs, allowed them to live on in millions of items, everywhere, all at once.

That’s a damn good legacy, if you ask me.