I made a new rabbi friend, recently and she told me that in Jewish tradition there is something about the first 30 days after someone dies. I’m not quite sure what exactly that is, but as 30 days gets closer I think it’s the overwhelming permanence of it. My friend is not going to come back, he will never hug me again or send me a poem or play me a song on guitar. His life has all been lived. Here are some thoughts I’ve had leading up to those days.
- Often times I find myself crying over you, real deep tears and I stop myself and say “you’re overreacting, everything will be fine soon” only to realize that death is the only thing that is final and unchanging.
- I don’t think that it’s fair of me to write about you, think of you and cry over you when there are people who loved you deeper, longer and more intentionally than I did. I’ll carry that guilt forever, most likely.
- I met all the friends you told me about. They’re amazing and they love you so much. I hope you knew that
- I’m grateful to see new parts of you; sad I couldn’t get to do that while you were alive.
- Oh, Melvin the dog bit me in the face the day after you died. I could hear your laugh when I woke up the next morning with a band-aid on my face.
- [xxx] was the first person to hold me while I cried after I found out about you. I stopped being their friend shortly after that. I cried because I couldn’t tell you about it. I cried because it should have happened a long time ago.
- Your burial felt like a dream. The colors were saturated and everyone looked almost exactly like they would have if you had written it in a script. I kept wondering “why are all of David’s friends here and he’s not?” I hope you saw it from wherever you are.
- I don’t really know where you are now that you’re dead, but I have this strong hope that one day when I die you’ll hug me and it’s the most optimistic yet devastating thing I’ve felt since you died.
- Every professor we had together asked me about you after you died. I know you’d love that.
- I got a new tattoo and moved to a new state and never got to tell you any of that. I’m sure I’ll carry that guilt too.
- I found two pictures of you I took not so long after you graduated high school, I think. I won’t post them online bc I know you hated them but I am so glad I sneaked those pictures.
- Chris made me watch a Tarantino scene and I hated it so much that I picked up the phone to call you but called someone else instead. I don’t know why but it’s probably because for some reason I always thought you liked Tarantino. You know how I like to make things up in my head and just accept them as fact.
- You were the best writer I knew because you were fearless. I read your poetry and it felt like I was being let in on a really intimate secret. I could have never written that well because I could never see myself as clearly as you saw yourself. Thanks so much for letting me in on that secret.
- At your funeral, the rabbi said that you would be with us whenever we did a Mitzvah in your name. Whenever I do a Mitzvah, I not-so-secretly think that maybe this will be the thing that wakes me up from this dream and brings you back to life. Bargaining is the hardest part of grief for me.
- I’ve talked about you constantly to people who knew you and they all said the same thing: you were caring in a way none of us quite understood; consistently on our team when maybe no one else was. We are all better because we knew you.
- I know, without an ounce of self-deprecation, if I died first, you would write a glorious, powerful poem about me and I’m sorry that this is all I can offer but I hope wherever you are, you like it.