One of my closest friends died almost a year ago. March 5th. It is a daunting feeling knowing that she has been gone for almost a year already. This has been one of the hardest years of my life. Most of the time I think that it could only be better if she were here with one of her amazing, long hugs. She was a better person than me in all forms of the word. In all honesty, she was the truest friend that I have ever known. I always believed that a “real” friend is that person who would come to your rescue at any time/ any day. That person who would sacrifice if necessary in order to be there for you. About half-way into college (undergrad), however, I learned that most people aren’t those kind of friends. I came to accept that fact, without abdicating that expectation for myself. It wasn’t until gradschool that Melissa came into my life. She has always been that type of friend, like me. She was one of the most genuinely honest and loving people and she was taken far too soon. In so many ways it should have been me.
This date concludes the fact that she is gone, and isn’t coming back which of course is the hardest part. A part of me knows that I give too much power to such things as her DOD, the last weekend we spent together (the weekend before she died), certain places, certain words. It is so hard to let go of those things. If I do…just let go of those things, she will slip further away. I want to be blamed for her death, not just because I feel guilt, but also because it holds her closer in a strange way. If I say it over and over again, “I know you are never coming back, I know it was not my fault,” it could be true; that just kills my insides.
“So many things remind me of you,
I hope that you can hear me,
I miss you,
This is goodbye,
One last time..”