I woke up because Nelson had to go to work. I was in a daze and didn’t know what to do or what to think. I couldn’t imagine that this was real. That you had really died. Does that seem possible? I wanted to get out of Nelson’s apartment and get home, be back somewhere normal where maybe things would right themselves, if I was back in a place that made sense to be, on a Tuesday morning. I hurriedly grabbed my stuff and left the apartment. It felt weird to be on the subway in the morning, since I don’t commute. I don’t think I cried the whole way back. My emotions were still trying to catch up. I emailed my managers at work, telling them the news and that I would work remotely. When I got back to my apartment, I just broke down again. I cried and cried. I was gradually thinking of who are the friends I needed to contact. How difficult that would be. I remember messaging Rodolphe and asking him when he was free to talk. We arranged for I think about noon. He kind of knew I think because he was already upset and answered practically on the first ring. It’s so hard and how I wish all of us, good friends of yours could have been together. I must have also told Cat Wang at some point, and she offered to tell Laurel, which was a relief, in hindsight. I thought it was my responsibility and, as your best friend, I felt it was what I needed to do in terms of telling the rest of our friends.
I stayed in bed the whole day, alternating from crying, dozing, messaging. It was happening so quickly. The hurt and ache in my chest wouldn’t go away. I was desperate to try and capture and keep every memory of you. I worried and knew that our memories were now on a ticking tock where they would eventually fade away. I didn’t want that — it was impossible to think about losing you again, losing you from my memories. I kept writing you little notes or messaging you because I felt like you were still responding. I could hear how you’d have replied to me, how you would have chuckled. All over scraps of paper, I wrote down memories. I was desperate to not lose you again. Everything hurt. The day passed, I think Amy came over to keep me company. I probably ate something.
The next day, I also couldn’t go into work. Just too unstable and a mess, but I was getting somewhat numb and managed to open my laptop and log in. I know my mind mechanically went through work emails, seeing them, but certainly not processing. I think I ended the day feeling drained that I managed to actually reply one email. During the day, Rose sent me the funeral arrangements and that post triggered a lot of responses from other friends/acquaintances who weren’t aware firsthand. I had to manage all those messages, responding to people who had no idea, people sending condolences. All new experiences to me. Trying to be nice and appreciative of people who cared, but at the same time, I had nothing to say to them. There was no way my feelings could be conveyed and it was so painful, trying to sound non-hysterical in my replies. I remembered feeling exhausted. Crying drained all my energy. The emotions were so heavy.
Franklin messaged and was very touching in his comments on the unfairness of your death. He asked if it was ok to start that donation fund for PRMH on your behalf. It was a really kind gesture, and I’m glad he did it. Not entirely sure whether you would have wanted it, but oh well. Not to say that you didn’t have big impact in the community, among friends and family, but I knew there was a bit of a worry that the donation turnout would be low and that’s an awkward popularity concern on your behalf. Anyways, Franklin agreed to the goal amount I suggested. I kept thinking about how you always jokingly laughed that you could share a Facebook photo with you on the Moon, shaking hands with the Pope, and it’d only get like 5 likes. Ergo, I was a little nervous and overwhelmed about what you’d think of this whole fundraiser thing.
The day of the funeral. I’ve never been to a funeral, so once again, you gave me a first. We took the train to Jersey City. Sam picked us up. Cat Wang flew in. Amy was there. Nelson didn’t sleep that day/night because of work. But at least he went; he slept in the car. David Christopher showed up as well and that meant a lot to me. He had a few memories and we had so many fun times together. He was always there for us when we needed someone to comfort us. And so for that, I’m so grateful for his friendship, and even if we aren’t that close, he’s always a linking person to you.
I wore the nice black work dress, the black blazer, my heeled black boots and no jewelry. I think I looked presentable. You would have approved. No make-up because what was the point with all the crying. It was the same church, where the last time I was here, your sister was getting married. So that also felt so bizarre and ironic. One, such a joyous event, and then to the extreme opposite.
We were there very early, before the church was even opened yet for visitors. Your mom had packed some of your things into this bright blue gift bags, as mementos for each of us, including previous postcards and photo frames. One of them was a sock. It all felt pretty weird. I wanted to keep everything exactly the same… it felt way too soon to be packing or taking some of your things. I also had downloaded all the photos I had of us from everything to give to your parents too. It was so strange. I couldn’t look at them, so they’re still in my closet packed away.
Your body in the casket looked small. It was a really nice casket, I have to say — again, I’ve only ever seen these things in movies. There’s a procession line with people to pay their respects and say goodbye to you and view the open casket. That was interesting. Your parents and siblings were at the front, receiving condolences. There were some big flowers around the church, but I believe many went for donations to charities. You were wearing a dark blue dress, I think. You had the lovely scarf, the Tiffany glass pattern one that was really pretty. They put rosary beads on your hands that were crossed. You had the little hat to cover your bald head. They put coloring on your face. You looked small though. I remember, Mike, your brother said to me that your hands and arms were not as puffy anymore. I remember that very clearly despite all the crying. Because I thought that was interesting. You did have very puffy hands and arms and legs at the hospital, which the doctors had some explanation for. It did feel very strange, but yes, in the casket, they were less bloated. You looked nice. Your mom had arranged peacock feathers as various decorations around. It was all very beautiful. Again, you would have approved and loved it all.
Nelson sat with me closer to the front few pews. The others sat in the middle/back. Despite all the people and yes, there are friends here, I felt so alone. You really were the person I was closest to, by miles, so I just couldn’t help but feel everyone else was still distant. Brian also showed up on his own. He sat in the back alone. I don’t know whether you’d be glad he came or not. I’m not sure. I certainly hated him and still hate him. He’s such a jerk. Anyways, even at the funeral, when we were leaving to go to the cemetery, he still did not really acknowledge me — I don’t get it. He said hi to Cat and Sam, and only then maybe nodded to me. Probably for the better because I really wanted to punch him in the face.
The priest talked a lot, I think his name was Chris(?). Father George was also there, with his sister (another lady, I can’t remember). Abishai was also there. I didn’t like Father Chris that much. He was also the priest at the hospital. Anyways, he seemed too jolly. I think you would have laughed. We like priests to be serious and elderly; not the friendly, joking person like Father Jim too from St AJ. Father Chris would try to make us laugh or tell jokes / recall the funny memories about you, to use as stories for the homily since he didn’t actually know you personally that well. Your program was a lovely photo, that you definitely would have approved. But there was no other eulogy, except Father Chris telling certain random stories about you, your relations and friendships. You had a lot of high school teachers show up. I also remember that and how I’m sure you would joke that it was somewhat embarrassing to have that many high school teachers remember you even after all these years.
The music was really glorious and celestial. Rose’s friend from Harvard came to sing and there was like one other lady (?). It was a small music choir, but the singing was very heavenly and beautiful. I didn’t understand it at first, but your mom kept saying how it was music of the angels, escorting and welcoming you into Heaven. And then that made sense. I agreed that the music was beautiful and suited this religious aspect of bringing your spirit to God. That was another thing, the religious aspect was really hard for me to swallow. I get it, I’m Catholic too. I was supposed to believe in on this afterlife and the glory of the Kingdom of Heaven. However, I was very bitter. It was unfair that God took you when you were young, when you didn’t have enough time to live your life, when I didn’t have enough time with my friend. When your family, your siblings, your friends were all still here. It wasn’t fair and a God like that didn’t make sense. It was a lot of pain and bitterness and even now, I sometimes still don’t entirely trust what God does.
The priest said we should be thankful for the 26 years of life you did have on earth. And well, that didn’t make me feel any better.
Hannah and Jennifer said the readings, and I did the Prayers. Rose wrote them, and they were really nice. I’d never spoken in front of a church before, so that was a new experience. When she first sent the Prayers to me, and asked me to do the reading at the funeral, I was surprised but also honored. I wanted to do it. I was constantly crying so much though — at least I read them through several times the few days before, because I really cried a lot reading them. Rose later added an extra prayer to Your Friends and helping us cope/recover, and that was really touching, but also extremely painful because I knew I was trying to pray for myself to not feel so sad. It was all very overwhelming.
Your brother, dad, and relatives were pall bearers, when they closed your casket and brought you to the hearse. It was all very strange and really felt like the movies. The solemnity and the surrealness of it all. David Christopher drove us, and it was a very long procession and the cemetery actually quite far away. Brian walked back to the city in the cold. We saw him pass by; it was windy and cold. I really thought it was pretty asinine for him to show up at your funeral; what was he trying to prove. But maybe you’re ok with it, always having been the nicer person. The cemetery is gorgeous. Up on a hill, it was cold though; I remember I was already freezing from just the sadness of it all, the crying and wetness on my face. The disbelief that any of this was even happening and then the brutal wind. The area was surrounded by forests, and your mom said it’s a beautiful place to lie and rest forever, where you’ll be able to enjoy the scenery. You drive in, follow the left side, go almost all the way around, then turn a right, and it brings you to the right side of the place. You have a plot near the path. More prayers were said, it was super cold though. Sorry, I keep mentioning this fact because I was so chilled to the bone, both from the fact that we were burying my best friend and the stupid weather. I brought the origami flowers, linked together with the green wire. Two blue/lavender, to represent you and I as best friends forever. There was a segment where they said non-relatives should leave so that only immediate family could say their final goodbyes. I didn’t know what to do because I really want to be there too, but I know I’m not family… the other friends felt a little less close, so I also didn’t know where I belonged. In the end, they hung back and I slipped up to the front to put my flowers on your casket too before they lowered it. It was all so messed up.
And then they lowered your casket into the ground. That was also curious because there’s a whole mechanism and pulley system for it, which I didn’t expect, having never seen this happen before. I think I somewhat registered it, and again, just felt like it was all so odd, but also in a way, like a typical reaction would have been to text you and ask, “Did you know that they use a pulley system to lower caskets into the ground?” and then we’d have some random exchange about burial traditions. Except, you were there in the casket which was all very confusing and conflicting in my mind. There wasn’t much else there to mark the spot. It’d be a few months before the tombstone with the names carved on. There were instead some stones and then a small metal plaque for a while.
That was it. Then we all trickled away and left the cemetery. Like somehow, burying you was going to close the chapter. Like I was supposed to be burying you, a piece of myself, all our memories, and everything else that will never be, and then… and then what.
