On February 23rd, we lost one of the fiercest people. Not only was she pretty and smart, but her presence was infectious. You knew when she was around, and similarly, you know that she's not. She had a response time that was similar to none, and she wasn't afraid to say what everyone else was secretly thinking. Her model-like physique and love for all things that sparkled, didn't stop her from being a tomboy at heart, and loving a good slasher film. And while it pains me to write this, I want to have something to remember her by, in my own way.
There is no event that can prepare you for this. There aren't any books you can read, or stories you can hear, that clue you in to what it feels like to have the weight of knowing you were one of the last people to see someone. Countless times I catch myself replaying the series of events, and each time I ask myself "what could I have done?". I know it's not healthy, and that there's no one to blame for what happened, but that feeling of guilt and responsibility doesn't just magically disappear.
The next day when I got the call, I couldn't process it. I heard what he was saying, physically, but the words didn't seem to register. I remember asking him if he was serious, and immediately told him I would have to call him back. I'll never forget the despair or sorrow in his tone of voice, something that still continues to hold true by those that are affected. Making that call to our close friends, was by far one of the hardest things I have ever had to do to date. There is no instruction manual, no booklet, and no sheet that prepares you for this.
After pulling myself together - and I imagine my friends had to do the same - we all decided to meet and just be, together.
But it's the moments where I'm completely alone, the ones where my thoughts run rampant, and I can hear myself think, those are the toughest. It usually happens when I'm driving, my mind will start to wander. I can say, that time has definitely helped ease some of it all though, and that this feeling too shall pass.
I remember when we all first started hanging out together. She was always the responsible one, looking out when she didn't have to, always ensuring that she had our best interests at heart. Over the years she had her fair share of battles, we all did, and still do. Where others would have crumbled, she bounced back with such a sense of self-worth and resilience that I hope to one day master. Names were called, and rumors were spread, and "not a fuck was given" she would say. She simply didn't let what others thought get to her, a quality that is undeniably non-existent in today's age of technology and impersonal sharing. Weak was something she was not, and failure wasn't a word that she had in her lexicon.
She is a person I'll never forget, as long as I live. Someone whose memory and light will shine (most likely in bright pink) within us all, for decades to come. She taught me to be kind, to have patience, and not to sweat the little things. "Life's too short", and I shit you not, I've never had a saying hit so close to home.
This is dedicated to the journey of someone very special, and to all that she has done with what little time she was afforded (which let me tell you, was A LOT).
I love you, we love you, and we'll always remember and never forget. But more importantly, thank you for letting us be a part of your life.
