What is it I want to say to her?
She’s been gone over a year now, and I still miss her every fucking day. The pain hasn’t gone away, but it has lessened some.
There are just so many things I would have told her in 365 plus days. Most of my year has been really shitty, because I have been dealing with losing her. The loss of her so dwarfed any loss I have ever known before.
It dwarfed the loss of practically everything. In a way, I lost myself. The me I had become, the open, loving, happy, and hopeful person. I was a person living with intent, and doing the things I was creating in my life and losing her just…FUBAR. In all ways.
I’m still here. I am still living and though I am happy, I am depressed. I don’t want to stay in this place. The loss of her was so, so deep. I truly feel most people don’t understand it. Yes, she was my best friend, but she was so much more. She was my sister, at times my mother, and at times my kid. She was my soul mate and I never understood that, till that moment I told her as much as she lay there on life support. At least, to my clouded and blacked out memories of those 11 days in Texas, she was still on life support at that point. What room were we in? NICU or Hospice? I really don’t remember.
I remember in NICU, walking into her room and it was empty. My heart started beating out of my chest. I thought she had died. I don’t even remember why she wasn’t in her room when I got there, I just remember them telling me she had been taken to someplace and she would be back.
I remember going into the Emergency room, after we removed the life support, after I asked her what she needed. Her eyes looked at mine and I knew, she needed/wanted life. I asked her as much, “You want to live huh?” I remember her responding with a slight nod and tears. I remember panicking and asking her if she wanted me to get the doctors, nurses and, machines back? She responded with a negative nod. I asked her, “What are you going to do, just fight till you can’t fight anymore?” She, nodded yes. I replied that I was there to hold her hand. I remember we cried together. I remember walking the halls later and just wanting to scream my mother fucking lungs out and never stop. It was in my head and my heart and it just needed out. I had NO CLUE how to process what was happening before my eyes. I found myself in the ER, falling apart, crying that my best friend was in NICU dying and I didn’t know what to do. They made me fill out paperwork. Eventually, I left. I just got up and walked out after a while, sitting in a room, crying. I walked the halls. I sneaked outside and smoked a joint. I went back to her.
I remember so much, but it’s foggy, blurred, blacked out.
I remember that sound in my head, at that final meeting with doctors and the final MRI results. I remember asking if once the ventilator, catheter, and attendants started, would there ever be life without them. I remember being told no. I remember the doctor saying her reality would be fuzzy and dream-state like, forever. I remembered her coming to me the night before in that not asleep, not awake state. Showing me myself, leaning over her in the hospital bed earlier that day. I could see the shape of my long hair, under Dylan’s Carhardt hat. I knew it was myself and I knew it was how she was seeing me. Then there was that sound in my head. It was the collective sound of everyone in that room knowing she was coming off life support. It was the sound of comprehension. It was the sound of everything secure, being destroyed. It was loud, ripping, wailing, deep and long in duration.
I began typing this over three weeks ago. So sad I was on the day I was writing, I left it in draft at “I remember that sound in my head…” Here I sit, 1 year, 1 month and 1 day after your death, wondering if you would be proud of me for still being here. Wondering if I am crazy, because I know you so well, that when other people say, “She wouldn’t want you to mourn forever.” I have to try not to laugh at them. I think you would have secretly loved that I loved you so much it wrecked me. I think you would approve of the depths of my grief and how I have been unable to step beyond it. I think you would think, it was appropriate and that your human form would have been saddened at it, yet loved it. Now, however, I wonder if you would be proud of me for wanting to get back on track with where I was?
I’ll always be sad that you left. My life will never be the same, but I have definitely learned much, in many ways.