When I got “The text” it was a little after midnight, and I was at the Mezzanine with some of my favorite people. Except for her. Hundreds of bodies were swaying to the sounds of MJ and Prince blaring through the speakers above. Yet, when I received “The text” it was as if the world came to a complete halt. I know mine did. For the next few hours after that I was in absolute shock. Even when I saw her body. Shock. Even when I saw him attempt to take off her wedding ring. Shock. And even when I saw them wheel her away – shock. I never thought the feeling would go away.
When it did, it was replaced with a painstaking numbness. I was in emotional purgatory. I couldn’t feel sad. I couldn’t even cry. And at night I braced myself waiting for this internal storm that had been brewing for days to unleash itself. But it never did. Not even at the funeral when I watched her being lowered into the ground. The only times I did feel something, I felt like an asshole for not feeling anything. I looked at everyone around me, and for once I was the seemingly “strong” one. It was a feeling I had never felt before. And I just wanted it to go away.
Until it did, and I ended up crying into her sweater that still smelled like her until I fell asleep. Since then, the mere sight of the pinwheel on her grave makes my eyes well up. I think of her all the time. Sometimes, without even knowing it. I see a comment she left me on Instagram and immediately want to @ her. It only happened once, but I almost text her that I finally won a fantasy football game. I think of all the plans we never made, and all the trips we’ll never take. I talk to her grave like she can hear me, and tell her to visit her husband like she’ll listen. Amidst work and writing and laughing and driving and dancing and drinking – I am still mourning. I’m scared I’ll never forget.
But I’m even more scared I will.