Today is the third anniversary of the death of a friend of mine. Even though it was an "accident", I am still struck by the horror of the life of a beautiful talented woman cut so short. I swear in the past two days, I have seen women that look just like her.
Those of us who were involved in her last day have struggled every day since her passing. Wondering what should we have done differently to change the outcome. Yet how can you plan for an accident, even when you see the cliff coming for them? Could I have loved her more, gone to her house and wrapped her in a blanket and feed her hot chocolate until she stopped crying?
I remember just weeks before her death, she had graduated from college, and revelling in her joy of completion. Beautiful moments for someone so deserving.
The first year of her death, ( though this may sound weird) I sat by her grave a lot, trying to figure out why she was there. The times I spend by her grave are so much less now, yet the ritual is always the same. I put flowers on the grave of her baby she lost a few years before her death. Then I go to where she is ( which is in viewing distance of the baby's grave) and ask her again, "Why are you here?". Then I tell her that I love her and have no judgement of her choices. I close my eyes and somehow hope that when I open them I will hear her silly laugh and blue eyes laughing at me, with her southern drawl telling me some story.
And I wonder why those who were involved that day still can't talk about our loss. People who weren't involved that day seem to have so easily moved on, like she is a chapter in their lives. For me, some part of me is stuck, stuck in that time and day. My hand gripping the garden arbor over the grave at her funeral because I was pretty sure I was going to scream or pass out. And no one notices. They tell me to get over it and move on, yet in that unexpressed scream my heart is still there.
Her death, as painful as it was, and still is, has saved me many times. So many times I want to give up, believing the lie that this is all too hard, and I focus too much on the pain. Then I remember her, and how much we loved each other as sisters. It is almost like she is kicking my butt, drawing me to my real life, my art, and joy. And I believe one more time. After all, I am alive. I have love and joy. While I believe she is at rest, I know that dying was not what she wanted for any of us. Or to waste a moment of the miracle of this life we all have.
So today, I allow all of the feelings. The horror, the pain, the joy, and the motivation to keep moving toward my truth, to my real life.
Thank you for being my friend, for teaching me about me, and being willing to share what turned out to be the end of your life with me. While the pain is real, so is the memory of our friendship. I look forward to seeing you again, and showing to you what I accomplished because you were my friend.
And every year, I will bring you flowers, because you will be forever spring to me.
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