The Chill of Fall

I’m not one to remember anniversary dates and birthdays, without them being marked on a calendar. But as the seasons shift into Fall and cooler weather, I feel the normal body shifts of yearning for comfort and warmth and rest. And I also feel the mood of Fall 2020 when my best friend, of almost 30 years, let me know there was not much time left. 2-9 months. Of course 9 months was the obvious choice of the range of options, but we weren’t that fortunate.

I can’t tell you the exact dates, but I can tell you the last week of October was the last I saw her face in person that year. The last time I felt her hugs. She had the type of hugs that made you feel loved, that made you feel special. She always knew how to give a good hug, one that lingered in love. Fall became a time of year swirled with dread, hope, anxiety, calm, panic, and also joy for celebrating the holidays with my children. I can tell you where we sat in the empty restaurant, finding a place to go in the cold, during a pandemic, where we wouldn’t risk her getting more sick. I can tell you the feeling of panic I felt getting ready that morning, stopping myself from what felt would be a panic attack, several times over, if I didn’t stop to force myself to breathe while doing my makeup. What if this was the last I’d ever see my best friend in this lifetime? We met that day and she had all the same feels. We had lunch, we cried, we laughed a bit, and we both felt so calmed and confident by the end that this would not be the end. We left that lunch knowing we’d see each other again at Thanksgiving. We were SO confident of that.

But we didn’t.

Thanksgiving approached and all things changed. So quickly. I was just a day or 2 away from seeing her again. People talk about time, but you don’t truly know about time until you’re running out of it. I always think of the anticipation of losing someone to be like a ball of yarn unraveling. Once it’s let loose, it can start to unravel so fast, of memories you have yet to create together. You begin to pick it up, to ravel it back as it once was, but you’re never fast enough. It can feel almost manic to try and gather all that yarn and put it back into it’s perfect little ball. But you’re desperate. I was desperate. Everyone who loved her was desperate. And we were helpless to the unraveling. It was coming. It took longer than we thought, and that part of the story is not mine to tell.

My preference will forever be to have that tiny, perfect human, who filled and completed my life in so many ways, to always have her in my life. I mean, almost 30 years, y’all. That sort of friendship and depth is the fairytale of friendships. And I’m grateful we left that October lunch semi-wide eyed and full of hope of embracing again, because the alternative of knowing the truth might have broke us both in that moment.

You learn to be grateful for weird things in grief.

I’ve had to learn how to hold her with me, which wasn’t hard because she was already a part of me, before she physically left this earth. The pain, it’s horrific when you swallow that news, I cannot sugarcoat this for any person, but the love….the love is what keeps me open to everyone else in my life.

The only pain worse than losing her, is imagining an entire life without her in it. And even without her saying it, I know she’d be pretty damn proud of me. And I’ll take her with me, for the rest of my life.