Those weeks after, I cried so much in church at St. Peter’s. I talked to God, I asked him questions, I didn’t understand why He would take you away so suddenly and so early. It wasn’t fair. I never lost my faith, but I definitely questioned the meaning of it all. I cried walking to work. I cried in the bathroom at work. I cried at my desk, silently and staring straight at my screen so no one can see. Thoughts just sometimes drifted in and I would tear up. It was so hard and not really a good reason almost, how do you ever explain to someone how I was feeling, so distraught and upset?
The cancer groups did help. I only discovered them weeks after, when Rose mentioned and I looked it up. I did message your mom a lot because she was one person who I knew felt worse than me. She could understand why I was so distracted and every day felt so difficult to move on. Actually, I really disliked people who said nice things to me. Terrible, I know — but honestly, there was so much bitterness in me. No one was going to understand how much pain it was, and in a way, you weren’t my family, just a friend, and yet meant so much to me.
Most of the days and weeks and months went by and they feel like blackout days to me because I really don’t remember what happened. I mechanically went to work and such, that I know. But there were days that the moment I left the building, I’d cry all the way back and just get home and cry in my bed. Then repeat. There are some specific moments that I remember very clearly. I think the weekend after, I was at Nelson’s apartment; it was late. He was working as usual, but in the apartment, and I decided to do laundry. When I came back into the room (small and cluttered), I stubbed my toe and completely burst into hysterical tears. The emotional outburst even shocked me a bit because I felt so helpless, that even doing laundry was impossible. The pain from a stubbed toe personified into the pain of losing you, and I had no control. Nelson came over and hugged me and held me for quite a while without speaking until I cried myself out. I fell asleep in his arms, after completely drenching his maroon shirt in tears and snot.
There was also a period here when Nelson was transitioning as well, job and location, so I was dealing with a lot of emotions. Traveling, trying to be happy, and sometimes, I think it helped because I was moody, but so distracted and out of my routine, that at least I didn’t have time to keep dwelling on the disruption in everything.
Then there was the day I went out to dinner. It was early summer. I was seeing two random friends who I don’t meet up with often. So for the first time, I had to share what happened. I remember feeling extremely detached, like I was stating some facts for them about your illness and then matter-of-fact she’s dead. It was the start of being numb to this, having to tell people, and gradually accept this as part of me. Same day (I didn’t go out much), I was walking in the street and overheard these two girls talking animatedly, clearly close friends. And I hated them so much. I literally felt anger at these strangers for having something that was taken away from me. A best friend, inside jokes, gossip. I hated everyone who had a best friend and it was such a strong feeling of bitterness that filled my entire core. I didn’t go out after that for weeks.
Probably in July, I started to play tennis with a neighbor. He was an ER doctor and by all means, a stranger, except for our weekend morning tennis sessions. He’s the first person I was able to talk to about you, who didn’t know you. In many ways, it was cathartic. I spoke about you in the past tense, and it was very strange. I managed not to cry for most of it. He was also really nice about it, and I felt ok sharing because he sees death on a regular basis. He’s lost patients, he’s seen family who’s lost loved ones. He knew that such pain existed and wasn’t judging me for it.
There was also this time that you sent me a sign. I was always looking for them. You sent a lot more to your mom, based on the stories she told me. And I guess that makes sense; glad you were looking out for her. But thanks, sometimes, please think of me too. I was in Whole Foods, and probably feeling sorry for myself yet again, when suddenly, I was staring at this Siamese cat. It was the cutest little stuffed animal on a shelf at eye level, exactly like Xie Xie and Py, the kind of cat you loved. Since when the heck did Whole Foods sell plush toys? Anyways, I cried and laughed at the same time and bought one. Of course you’d be a Siamese when reincarnated as a spirit animal.
I also remember, the day I refer to as, “the day I woke up”. It was like being sucked out of a blackhole and trying to reacclimate myself to society and the world. I asked my friends to plan a trip to the Hamptons; it was end of summer. I wanted to check off the cliché NY bucket list. First step in trying to move on. It was a conscious effort to do something considered normal and pretend that I was ok. I finally saw my friends again. And they were so normal. I remember thinking how normal they were. It was like waking up to realize that only I had been stuck in this blackhole for the last seven months when everyone else in the world had continued to revolve. Every moment for me though, felt strange because it didn’t make sense to me, why you weren’t there with us.
That’s when I realized, I had to move on. This grief was the hardest pain I’d ever experienced yet, and there are the days when I still get overwhelmed. Days when I’d take my phone to message you, and be reminded by the string of blue monologues that you weren’t going to reply. Days when I’d avert my eyes from seeing your gchat on my screen because no one uses that anymore and that message is stuck permanently as the most recent. But it is part of the cycle. It weighed heavy on me, how I had to teach myself to become a different person, defining myself as someone without a best friend. There will be people I meet who have never met you, who will never know you, and I have to figure out how to navigate that. You are a huge part of who I am, but others don’t know that. It’s a lot to adjust to. I miss you every day and always will. I still wish you could come back — your Peace Corps plan for 2 years in an isolated village without internet is more than over and I can’t keep pretending.
