When Someone Else Dies

It all started this weekend when one of my best friend's grandmothers passed away. She wrote a status letting everyone know what happened and headed home to be with her family in San Diego. Since Blake passed away, I have made a point of immediately "liking" any status about mourning. I feel so much empathy for people who reach out in this way, so I figure that I can support them by at least acknowledging that I've seen what they wrote. However, when I saw my best friend's status, I didn't call or text. I didn't even "like" it.

I spent the rest of my weekend with the news of her grandmother in the back of my mind, but never made the step to actually reach out. I distracted myself with girl's night Friday and a date on Saturday, but it wasn't until Sunday night that I crafted a text. I rattled off the usual "I'm so sorry for your loss" and "I'm here to talk if you want," and even made an excuse for myself by acknowledging that I should've said something earlier, but I knew she was busy with family. I could feel her anger and disappointment through her response. Two days had already passed, she was only a few miles away, and that was the best I could do? I really had no excuse for myself, so I apologized again and left her alone.

It wasn't until last night, when talking to another friend who's grandfather is dying, that I realized what happened. As he was explaining how hard things have been, I immediately went to telling him what a blessing it is to be faced with someone's mortality, but still have time with him. He said he felt the opposite, as it is increasingly hard on everyone to have things be drawn out and difficult for so long. But then I pushed back and told him how lucky he was to be able to say goodbye, to say everything he wants to say before it's too late. I'd give anything to have had that gift.

He didn't want to be having this conversation and asked if we could stop talking about it. I was in tears texting him when it all clicked. Instead of being an impartial participant in the conversation like I should have been, I was projecting my feelings about Blake's death onto his situation with his grandpa. I'd taken something tragic going on with him and made it about me.

My mind raced back to the moment a few days ago when I saw my best friend's status. When I read it, I remember feeling that sharp pain in my heart that can only be understood by someone who's experienced a devastating loss. Without even realizing it, I shut my laptop and distracted myself because her pain started reminding me of my own.

As soon as I made the connection last night, I wrote out everything in an effort to explain my behavior to her. I was scared. Terrified. Since she is the first person close to me who's lost someone since Blake died, the idea of hearing her in mourning must have freaked me out. I guess I had been doing so well that I was afraid to be back in that place again: thinking about death and funerals and all of the pain that goes with just having lost someone you love. I finally realized after talking to my friend coping with his grandpa in the hospital that I wasn't ready to talk to her right when I heard her news. I had to mentally prepare myself because I was scared. I didn't know if I could be there for her without thinking only about Blake and my own pain.

I wish I could've been there for her like she wanted and expected me to, but I wasn't. There's no going back and fixing it now, so all I can do is understand the lesson I've learned in all of this. From this point forward, any other death I hear about, experience through a friend, or experience with my own loved ones will remind me of Blake. It's not because I'm selfish or self-centered, it's just natural. But knowing this means I need to understand that even though it's inevitable, it can be separated. Yes, I can think about him and my own pain and how it relates, but I have to remember that every death is unique for every person involved.

To be a friend you need to put aside your own suffering and focus on whatever the other person is feeling. Maybe I'm not strong enough yet or enough time hasn't passed, but this is obviously something I need to work on. Because after all, when someone else dies it's not about me or Blake, it's about them and their loved one.

The Crutch

As a Christmas present, I bought all the women in Blake's family a custom made necklace. I designed it online to be perfect: gold angel wings, a tiny sapphire stone, and a little pendant embossed with the letter B. I hoped this necklace would be a way to carry a piece of Blake with them wherever they went.

Since the necklaces came in, I've worn mine every day. Anytime I was feeling upset or stressed or nervous about something, I would hold onto the wings and remind myself that Blake was there to guide me. I had other physical reminders: the blue heart ring that I never take off, his cologne that I wear for important events, his shirts I wear to bed, the freckle that's a permanent part of my skin... (etc.), but for some reason I felt like this necklace was a necessary addition to the numerous other things I surround myself with to feel Blake's presence.

This past weekend I went on a road trip up to LA, to San Jose to visit my old students at school, San Francisco to visit friends and old co-workers, and then back through LA again. It was the perfect way to finish off my Winter Break and slowly transition back into school mode. Although San Francisco was a little difficult and I couldn't bear to go back and visit my old house, I felt great about being there. I could truly feel the progress I've made since the last time I was there. I left the Bay Area a lost, broken girl, and have returned eight months later feeling like I've come out the other side a happier, more complete woman.

What I want to write about is something upsetting, but ultimately symbolic that happened this weekend. After my first night in San Jose on Thursday, I accidentally left my angel wing necklace at my friend's house. I called and checked to make sure she had it, and she did, so I decided I'd wait until the end of the weekend to pick it up on my way back home. I wished that the second I realized it was gone I could've gone to her house to get it, but it was impossible. I was going to have to face San Francisco on my own.

Sure, I still had my ring and my freckle to touch when I felt upset, but I had grown used to rubbing the little angel wings. It was frustrating to not have them as a crutch anymore, but I had to learn to look inside myself instead of to a tangible object. But when I came back through San Jose on Sunday night, I was relieved to finally have the necklace again.

Sometime in the hours between Sunday night and Monday morning, my angel wing necklace got incomprehensibly tangled in my purse. I had never seen a collection of knots so big caused by nothing more than sitting in a pocket. Determined to wear the necklace again, I kept it in my hand the whole drive to LA, trying to unknot it any chance I got. But there was no use. I was clearly going to have to take it to a professional.

When I drove up to my friend's house that night, I must have let the necklace fall from my lap when I got out of the car to greet him. I've looked every place that the necklace might be, but it seems to have just completely disappeared. It was left behind, then unwearable, and then lost. I can either blame myself for this, or try to believe that it happened for a reason.

What is this reason? Maybe Blake was telling me I need to stop using him as a crutch. If I surround myself so completely with him and believe so deeply that it's him helping me through things, I'll have no room for confidence in myself. I can't even begin to let anyone else in if I treat him as my own personal guide through life. Ultimately I know he's there, but he doesn't have to be responsible for every decision I make and lifting me up anytime I feel lost. I can, and should, do that for myself now.

So necklace or no necklace, I know I can handle anything.

San Francisco

I didn't anticipate it being this hard. The Bay Area was our playground, our home. Walking around and seeing the places where we used to go makes me miss him. Makes me miss us.

I haven't had this achy feeling in my heart in a while. It's the kind of weight that follows you where ever you go. All day. I may not consciously be thinking about  him, but there's a sadness I can't shake.  I thought I was better, but this feels like square one.

I realized a couple weeks ago that I was finally at a point where the idea of a guy hitting on me didn't make me want to throw up. In fact, I was open to it. Although this gave me mixed feelings, I was proud of myself. It didn't feel natural to feel this way after eight months of being afraid of any male interaction, but I figured this was a good step.

But now, this weekend, I've been missing Blake more than ever. Is this a regression? Can I be open to meeting new guys at the same time that I wish Blake was still here? I know it won't make sense to anyone else, but I think I can. I'm trying my best to navigate my relationships with new guys, but I understand more and more every day that I will never know the "right" thing to do. All I can do is trust my gut and only do what I feel comfortable with.

Instead of beating myself up for missing Blake so much this weekend, I'm going to use it as an opportunity to reminisce and feel good. We had so many amazing memories in San Francisco. This was a city of fun, exploration, and relaxation for us. Anytime we were here, we were having the time of our life. So while I'm here, I'm going to honor that.

The best gift I could give to Blake is enjoying this city as much as he would want to.  As for meeting other guys, that's a different story. I will continue to stumble through that aspect of this process for a while.  However, I'm starting to understand that just because I miss Blake doesn't mean I've regressed. I will miss him the rest of my life, but that doesn't mean I don't have the capacity to love someone else with all of my heart. All I can hope is that if I meet someone I am interested in, he will understand and respect that.