This Will All Be Over Soon

by Cecily Strong

  Matt says he hasn’t laughed for real for almost two weeks. Kevin says, “Me too.” I know they aren’t lying. I laughed for the first time a day ago. We have all been fake-laughing and nervous-laughing, so you feel the difference when it’s real.

  I was on the phone with my agent yesterday. I was still laughing a little from an SNL group text exchange that had me in tears earlier. I work with really funny people. My agent is in LA. I think they are starting to feel how we felt two weeks ago. The virus is making its way over, it seems, and the nerves and sense of unease are taking the same journey. Although, let’s face it, nobody does anxiety like New York!

  My agent said, “Glad to hear you are going to write and you are laughing.” And I said, “No no no, you don’t understand. I’m not going to write. I’m just hoping to write. And now I feel like I’ve got a shot.” And what he didn’t understand about the laugh is that I was laughing but it was the laughter of a person who has just popped their head above the water and said, “Ha! I survived the shipwreck! Whoopee!”

  The rest of the car ride, we keep laughing. It feels good. We aren’t even laughing at super-funny things. Somehow SlimFast comes up and I put on that stupid soft nineties accent and say, “It’s easy. I have a shake for breakfast, a shake for lunch, and a reasonable dinner.” We are cracking up. “It’s sensible dinner.” We are dying laughing. It’s become a running joke. I have a “____” for breakfast, “____” for lunch, and a sensible dinner. Insert anything. It’s funny to us still.

  Matt cries a little after he really laughs in the car. It’s weird and it’s not a new concept: “Laughter is the best medicine.” But now it’s not just a cliché. Now I’m feeling it in real time. I’m seeing what a real laugh can do. I’m seeing how often we force the fake laughs and I know why we do.

  March 27, 2020

  This is what I wrote and got up and said at Owen’s memorial service:

  The Strongs are a bit of a WASPy bunch, which to me meant my immediate and extended family was a small fraction of the size of my Catholic friends’ families. Although Owen and Leda are technically half Jewish and half Episcopalian. A combo which, Owen informed me, made him “Epissy-Jew.” There are two Strong branches in our immediate family: the New York Strongs and the Chicago Strongs. Well, my dad says New York Strongs. I call them the String Bean Strongs, as they are long and lean like string beans. While the Chicago Strongs are just a little less “long.”

  While age differences are a much bigger deal as kids and can keep you from getting close, I loved getting to visit my “little” cousins. I was so enchanted by this funny little boy with bright red hair who could be so ridiculously serious at times. And then by his somehow equally-wonderfully-bizarre-in-the-best-way little sister, Leda. My grandma Scotty would laugh as she told me some new funny story about them. Like the time Owen confronted some New York construction guys who were working in his apartment, storming in saying, “I’m three years old and I’m not afraid of you.” Or when Leda, who had a bit of a low voice as a toddler, told a waitress, “You have very nice blood circulation.”

  The thing I knew most about Owen as a kid, though, was that he LOVED birds. Like to an obsessive, comedic degree. Because also, what kid chooses birds?!? One time, Owen put together a beautiful bird model and while tossing it around the Tolsons’ backyard to see it fly, the dog got ahold of it and wouldn’t give it back. This resulted in lots of tears, but also lots of laughs as a distraught but very determined five-year-old chased a little dog around all afternoon to save his beloved bird. As an adult, even Owen conceded his love of birds was pretty funny, and why the hell didn’t he study ornithology? He couldn’t tell ya.

  He was full of surprises. One time in the park when Owen was chasing pigeons instead of playing on the swing set (naturally), we asked what he would do if he caught one. Knowing Owen, you’d think it would be to maybe keep it as a pet. Or study it. Or play with it. His answer was: “I’m going to catch it and fry it in butter.” And then he grinned.

  When I came to New York for my first couple rounds of auditions for Saturday Night Live in summer 2012, Owen made sure to see me every night. Even though I had only seen him once or twice in over ten years. But he showed up, and we had a blast every time. He even sang some Shaggy at karaoke with my friends and me. And over the past seven or eight years that showing up never stopped. I think finally by around the third year I stopped being so surprised to see all or some of the New York/String Bean Strongs at an event that I hadn’t even bothered inviting people to, knowing how busy life is in New York especially. But Owen kept showing up. Usually with Leda in tow. No questions.

  And I realized I was starting to feel that I was never without the support of my family. I don’t know many people who possess their selflessness and kindness. So I tried to tell my cousins as much as possible how proud they make me and that I’m forever awed by the amazing people those silly little kids became.

  And speaking of, I’m so grateful I finally got to meet Stacia. The girl who changed his life. The girl who would text him she was on her way home and he’d respond “Hooray!” every time. And that level of happiness is usually only reserved for our dogs when we get home. So much rarer in humans. What a gift to know he was so puppy-level happy after finding this great love with you. In the midst of what may seem like a tornado to all but the bravest and most special people.

  I told Owen often that he was my hero. And he was. And even though I hate even bringing up his cancer, I do so because during the last year and a half, Owen somehow took on the role of OUR fearless leader. Showing all of us how to fight. How to smile. How to stay full of love. How to “take no guff,” like he told Stacia before work every morning. How to throw a massive blowout balls-to-the-wall badass thirtieth birthday party. Let the world do as it may. That’s a real-life hero.

  So how to make some kind of sense of any of this, and the pain now filling so many lives that it seems our tears flooded the streets of New York earlier this week. How to somehow wave goodbye to the little boy brave enough to stare down giant construction workers. Brave enough to chase a wild dog for hours to save his bird. Brave enough to show up anywhere ever for anyone. Brave enough to sing karaoke in front of strangers and share his own music with the world. Brave enough to hit any dance floor. The man brave enough to fight a cruel and unpredictable disease and never let it take his spirit. Brave enough to fall madly in love in the midst of it all. I don’t know how really. So today, all I can think to say is that it seems the brave little boy who loved the birds so much flew away before the rest of us.

  * * *

  AFTER THE SERVICE, a friend of his from college came up to me. I was holding a roll of toilet paper. (It must say something about the way we were raised that my brother and I separately showed up with our own rolls of toilet paper to use as tissues.) There were so many different people crowded in this theater in New York, really speaking to what kind of a person he is. I realize I’m using the present-tense is as opposed to the past-tense was, and it’s because Owen’s presence in all of our lives feels like a thing that will continue to be, and probably evolve, and not something that has ended. And I know that’s a thing I think everyone says after a funeral: that the number and different types of people in attendance are a testimony to the person being honored. But I don’t say it as a loving but sort of generic memorial to him. The room (theater actually!) was packed. Young and old. Family and friends. My friends were there. Leda’s friends. Ed’s friends. But the room wasn’t that way because those people wanted to support us. The room was that way because Owen was really friends with all of us. He liked his uncle as much as he liked his college buddies. He enjoyed hanging with his dad’s cousin. He liked my friends. Your friends became his friends. He once texted my friend Mackenzie after a surgery to ask how she was doing. The kid with brain cancer checking up on my friend. So that’s why that room was so special. He made all of us feel like a friend and welcome anytime.

  Anyway, his friend from college t
old me that he thought Owen would have really liked what I said. And that he was really thankful it was funny. Now, I didn’t try to write something very funny. But I felt so low and I tried to still follow Owen’s lead and not be too sad about him even though initially I thought I was doing that to help him stay strong and beat it. But I made that promise, and so it still doesn’t feel right to break it. And I still won’t give cancer the win. It never beat Owen because it never got his spirit. So I wrote something I hope made people smile and laugh once or twice. And I tried hard not to cry too much when I read it.

  Okay, but back to his friend. He said he had held it together really well during the whole service because it was all so sad. So he was able to be stoic. But then suddenly he laughed and then he finally wept for his friend. And I think Owen would be okay with that, don’t you? He laughed, too, after all.

  March 28, 2020

  A really cool thing happened yesterday at my safe house retreat in the Hudson Valley. I’m slowly easing my way back onto social media, sort of. I have a message from re—inc. It’s a clothing company founded by some of my heroes on the US women’s national soccer team. It’s about making gender-neutral clothing and sizes, and also they are women soccer players, and I don’t know if you’ve heard, but there is a bit of an equal-pay problem happening there, so I am supportive of all their other ventures.

  They sent me a message asking how I was doing in New York and if they could send me something to cheer me up. It was really nice. It chokes me up. Now that I’m out of my scary apartment and scary New York City, I am finally able to feel other things. My tears are happy again. My laughs aren’t forced. The kindness of people reaching out to New Yorkers makes me happy-cry. I tell them. I tell them I brought a re—inc shirt with me, stuffed into the bag of all the clothes I’d had to choose for these five weeks. I brought it because it makes me happy. I’m writing to them while wearing my soccer hoodie. I tell them all of this. They write back that it brightens their day, and would I like to do an Instagram Live thing with Megan Rapinoe via however that works? I say, “Of course! Wow!” I tell Matt and Kevin. They say, “We’ll do hair and makeup!” I say, “No, you won’t. I’ll do hair and makeup. You’ll help with however the fuck you do an Instagram Live with another person somewhere else.”

  I love Megan Rapinoe. When the women’s World Cup was going on, my friend Rashida, who I call my little sister, and my friend Nnamdi, who used to play pro soccer in England, and I never missed a game. We all got jerseys. Rashida wore 13 for Alex Morgan. Nnamdi wore 17 for Tobin Heath, who is a beast on the field and also happened to have the same number Nnamdi wore when he played. I wore 15. Rapinoe. My kind of American hero. She stands up for what she believes in and it never feels shallow. She was the first white athlete to kneel during the anthem. The whole team was suing their bosses for equal pay while playing, and dominating, in the World Cup. The president rage-tweeted at her (well, actually, he rage-tweeted at a K-pop teen fan with a different spelling of Rapinoe, because of course), and two days later she scored the first goal against England to help the US win a big match. And she stood arms outstretched, smiling proudly. It was the anniversary of Stonewall. It was nice to be able to say, “This is also what an American hero looks like.”

  When the team came back to the US for the victory tour, they played their first match in Pasadena. I felt so lucky because I was in LA. I made sure Nnamdi, Rashida, and my friend Bianca (another big soccer fan and favorite human) were there. We got to sit in a box even though I was worried there was no way I would be able to score those seats in LA. Wouldn’t everyone want to be there?? I mean, AMERICA JUST WON THE WORLD CUP! Sure, it’s the women’s World Cup, but come on!! I guess women’s sports still have a ways to go, but whatever, this is a celebration! And there was still a huge crowd. And there were celebrities there. Rashida wasn’t wearing her glasses. She pointed toward the next box over from us: “I need that jersey.” I looked where I saw a man standing with his back to us in a “BURRELL 19” jersey. “You need a Ty Burrell jersey?” The man was Ty Burrell. “Oh. I just saw the four stars.”

  Then we saw the back of a man’s head walking with his daughters to the field. Who was that? He was far away. He must have been important though, because he was walking onto the field, taking pictures with the team. I said, “I think that’s Kobe Bryant.” Later, as he made his way back up to his seats, we confirmed. It was definitely Kobe Bryant.

  A week after Owen’s service, a helicopter in California went down carrying Kobe and his daughter Gianna. It was heartbreaking. The nation was mourning. Leda and her friend Erika and I had made plans to go to the Knicks game earlier that week. We still go. I can’t wait to see her, to give her a hug. There is a big picture of Kobe outside of Madison Square Garden. I take a picture. I don’t know why. I don’t want to be like a tourist at the Colosseum, but fuck it, it just feels like this is a strange time. Important to save. Isn’t this a way to capture a moment? For what, I don’t quite know.

  We are inside. Leda pulls me aside. We hug. She’s been so strong. I want the world for her. Once we get inside the Garden, she nervously asks, “What do you think about waiting to go to the floor until a little after the game starts?”

  “Why?” I ask. She knows basketball really well. She’s going to Columbia for a master’s degree in sports management.

  She says, “Because they will take a moment for Kobe.”

  And immediately I know what she means. I’ll do whatever she wants. We wait a minute. Not a minute. Less. We decide we want to be there. We want to mourn and celebrate Kobe. With the crowd.

  We are on the floor. The whistle blows and the players stand still. The Jumbotron shows a great big beautiful picture of a smiling Kobe. The crowd is silent, and then they start to cheer. They cheer for this guy they loved. The guy who brought his daughters to that soccer game. Everyone is shouting, “KOBE! KOBE! KOBE!” And everyone is in this together. I turn to Leda and I start saying, “OWEN! OWEN! OWEN!” And she smiles and she says it with me and we are crying and yelling his name.

  March 29, 2020

  I’ve decided the next thing I want to do is the most personal. I want to share my text messages with Owen and Leda with you, to let you know them a little more. My memory is sometimes faulty, and I really want you to know the level of specific kindness and love I was fortunate enough to share then, and share now.

  I go to my phone and my thumb freezes, hovering above the button to search Owen. It’s raining today. And tomorrow, turns out. Kevin, Matt, and I are all in separate rooms. I haven’t heard from Jack today. I don’t know what’s happening with us. It’s a dark day. So I’ll wait until tomorrow to share those texts, I think.

  That night, Dr. Henry calls. He makes me feel better. He says that’s part of his job. He asks me to look up a video I made for Owen right after his initial diagnosis. I asked my lovely castmates to record videos cheering Owen on in his fight. This was at the beginning. I remember I wasn’t sure I was supposed to call it brain cancer at the time. Was it? My castmate said brain cancer at one point in the video and I remember wondering if that was okay. Should I edit? Was that in fact what Owen had? It’s not like I was going to call him and ask to clear that point up. Actually, writing that now, it makes me laugh, because he would have explained it to me without a second thought or thinking it a weird question. Probably would have explained while eating something, talking through bites.

  I find this text, and I want to share with Dr. Henry:

  Owen: Hey Cec! Thanks for getting my back! Love you too! Yeah Henry (he won’t let us call him dr Friedman haha) is the best. Looking forward to this new treatment

  And right after, I send Dr. Henry my own message: You are the best, Henry. Thank you.

  March 30, 2020

  So I think I’m gonna get the hardest out of the way, the one that kept me from doing this yesterday. But it’s important, maybe. Maybe not. But I need to get it out of the way.

  Tuesday, January 7 9:18 PM

>   Cecily: I love love love you and while I’m not worried about you because you are the strongest person I know, I mean that, I’m beyond sorry you have to go through any of it. I’m behind you 100% rooting for you and shouting for you. Let me know if there’s anything cool I can send to you or do for you .

  That is the last text I sent him on a phone I don’t know if Owen looked at again. I learned later he had been readmitted to the hospital after the doctors called that morning, saying he needed to be rushed in after looking at his MRI from the previous day. He would leave us “officially” on Saturday, early early morning. Sometimes I feel sick or guilty. Did I take it too lightly? I didn’t. But I did believe there must still be a way. Part of me is happy I didn’t say goodbye to a boy who didn’t tell us he was going. Who am I to make that choice for him?

  Leda was in Peru that week. Had just gone on vacation. She had to fly home immediately. But she got to the hospital and she got to be with him. So here is the second-hardest text:

  Friday, January 10 6:08 PM

  Cecily: I’m sorry to text now. But please let him know how much I love him and how much he means to me

  Saturday, January 11 5:07 AM

  Leda: I love you

  So much

  Okay. Those are the hard ones. Now, the reason I felt like I could write this today was because I found one of my favorites last night after looking up videos for Dr. Henry.

  I wore a special shirt at good night in March 2018. (That’s the part of the show at the very end where the cast, host, and musical guest all come together on the main stage—“home base”—as ourselves to say good night to one another and the audience. This is usually the first time during the week I’ll speak to the musical guest, a fact that disappoints at least half of the people who ask me about the show.) John Mulaney was hosting. Owen was still very recently diagnosed. I was still recently allowing myself to say brain cancer. The shirt, which I made, said “G’Owen Strong.” Then I got this text: