It's been 2 months and 11 days. I'm supposed to be over it, right? That's the protocol for mourning. You're allowed to talk about it for a couple of weeks, three at most, and then you're supposed to be done.
But I'm not done. I still bring you up on a daily basis in conversation with other friends, and I can tell, to a certain extent, that it makes them uncomfortable. And I don't bring you up to make them uncomfortable. I bring you up because you were a very important part of my life for eight years, and you're still a part of my life, even if you're not here physically anymore.
I don't know how to do this. I just don't. I can go a few days and function normally, but then BOOM--it all comes back. I suppose that I'm still in that stage where I can pretend that it's just been a couple of days since we've actually talked, and I can deal with that. But then the fact that you're gone--that you're really gone, and that I will never talk to you again, always comes seeping back into my consciousness. And I weep. Or I try not to weep, depending on the company I'm keeping at the time.
I've found that I'm at my best when I'm either alone or with "our people." I have isolated myself to the extreme over the past two months and 11 days, just because it hurts so much. When I'm alone, I can talk to you, even if that sounds crazy to other people. Sure, you don't answer back, necessarily, but it still helps--just to talk to you.
When I'm with the people who loved you as much as I do, that's okay as well. Because I know that they feel exactly the same way I feel. Or they feel it even more, because you were even more to them than you were to me--you were a mother, a daughter, a sister, a partner. You were "just" my best friend. And I try to be very conscious of that distinction--of the fact that I'm not suffering nearly as much as Beau. As Trey. As Joey. As Beverly. As Krissie. But it's still okay, because I'm with people who love you as much as I do--people who love you more than I do, because they were your family.
And then I go out with other people, and as much as I have a good time in the moment, as much as I care about those other people, it just makes me even more sad. Because it makes me miss you all the more. And then it all comes crashing down again, that I will never talk to you ever again. You will never text me again. We will never go to a parade again. We will never watch a Saints game together again. We will never sit on your porch and drink beer and talk about life again. We will never take our kids to City Park, or the zoo, or to a movie, or the skating rink, ever again. We will never marvel over how much Emmeline and Beau have changed over the past eight years ever again. When I'm so angry at Kenny that I don't know what to do with myself, I can't talk to you about it anymore. I'll never get another text or phone call from you because you're so angry at Trey that you don't know what to do with yourself.
You'll never call me and ask me to pick up Beau from school. You'll never call me and ask me if I'm on the way to the parades. We'll never sit at Pete's on a Sunday night and discuss relationships and the Mayan calendar and death and reincarnation. We'll never again laugh together at the time Emmeline shoved Beau off the couch while we were watching, or reminisce about the time Beau broke his leg at his fourth birthday party and none of us knew it and made him open his presents anyway (that sounds terrible, doesn't it?).
I'll never replace the friendship that I had with you. That's not to say I don't have other good friends; I do, and I've never been more grateful for their place in my life than now, when they've helped to hold me up since you've been gone.
But you're gone, and that just kills me. Because you were an everyday part of my life, and I don't know how to do this without you. You were my sister, even though we weren't related. You were my Cancer friend, who always knew exactly why I felt guilty for something stupid. You were one of my soulmates, in that you understood and accepted me completely, even though you were always the better version of what I maybe could be. You were my better. You were the one who made me want to be better, with your complete acceptance and love of everyone (with maybe the exception of Bobby Jindal and Daviid Vitter). You broke my heart when you left.
You break my heart every day in your leaving, although I know you had to go.
I don't know how to do this without you. It's trite, but it's true--there's a huge hole in my heart.. I'm doing the best I can, but I still don't know how. I miss you. I love you. And I thank you for the meaningful coincidences.