Last Tuesday, September 15, 2015, a very dear friend of mine passed away. Now that it's been almost a week since she died and all the events are over, I thought it might be time to address my feelings. So I submit to you: a letter. A letter that the recipient will never read.
Dear Lindsey,
It's been almost a week since we lost you and things are starting to settle back down and return to normal here. I am only just beginning to swallow the unbelievably large pill that is your death. Though we knew for more than a year that this day would come, part of me still can't believe it has come and gone. I watched my Grandpa - who was my father figure for the better part of my life - wither and die of pancreatic cancer at the very respectable age of 70. It was hard to watch and it was even harder to accept. But he had done so much. He'd served in the army, gotten married, bought a house, had children, raised his children, had grandchildren, helped to raise his grandchildren, and traveled all over the US. He'd had so much time to do everything he wanted to do. When he died in 2009, I couldn't accept that as a good thing, however. I wasn't ready to lose my dad. I was only 20. And it took me months to accept that it was okay to move on.
I wrote him a letter too, when he died. I wrote it when he was still alive, two nights before he died. Unfortunately, he wasn't in a state to be able to read it before he died, so he never knew how I felt. I hadn't looked at that letter since his death but I thought I might look at it today. Looking at that letter made me realize how easy it is to say we're sorry after someone is gone. It's easy when you don't have to look someone in the eye and watch their reaction. You can just think to yourself, "Yeah, I was a shitty person" and let it go. To really face the truth and really admit that you did something wrong, that you let someone down, that takes guts. I've not ever really been known for my bravery.
The truth is, however hard it was to watch my Grandpa die, it has been 10 times harder watching you go through a similar - although totally different - fight. You weren't 70, you hadn't lived a full life and the shitty part was, you never seemed like you resented that. It was shitty because I knew how I would have reacted. But you were better than that. You were better than me.
I didn't know you for very long before the diagnosis. I didn't go to college with you and I didn't get to see you become the beautiful woman that you were. You won't believe how jealous I am of everyone who did. You won't believe how angry I am that we never got to be better friends. When we first met, I knew we'd be great friends. It's just a feeling you get when you meet someone. You just know that they're the kind of person you want around. I have always felt that our friendship had so much potential and I am so angry that it got taken away from me too soon.
But - to get to the point of this whole thing - I do take some responsibility for stifling that friendship, and I think that's what makes this so hard for me to come to terms with. When you were diagnosed I remember really vividly, you called me on the phone and calmly told me that you'd been diagnosed with brain cancer and then you asked me if I was okay. I have replayed that conversation over and over in my head for more than a year now. I think what shocked me the most is that you called me in the first place. We weren't that close but we had hung out a few times. We had chatted on occasion. And as other friends have told me, you called everyone, because that was just who you were. But to be included in that list of people you felt were important enough to tell like that, I was honored, but also horrified.
After that moment, I let you down. I failed as a friend and it is one of the most humbling and painful realizations I've ever had. Sure, I came and helped to clean your house so you could come home to a clean place after your brain surgery and I took you to that one radiation treatment and I did the BT5K with some other friends in your honor, but I didn't see you enough, I didn't spend enough time with you, I didn't do enough for you and I'll hate myself for that for the rest of my life. Part of me just didn't know how to act. I didn't know what to say or do to help. I didn't know if I could help. So I put as much distance between us as I could. I did the most selfish thing I have ever done and I tried to protect myself instead of trying to help you. And I know doing any more than I did wouldn't have helped you to live any longer and it wouldn't have eased your pain at all but it may have helped you live better, even for just a little while. I think that's why I'm struggling now. I hate myself for being so selfish and such a terrible friend when you needed help.
I know you would say all these nice things here about how I did do enough and I shouldn't feel bad. You'd say that I didn't have to do anything and so what I did was great. But I could have done more and we both know it. I don't know how I'm going to get past this, Lindsey. I don't know how to get over it.
If I can think of one positive thing to say here I would say this: you have taught me something about friendship and bravery. I may have failed you and I will have to live with that, but I have learned that sometimes, we have to be brave. We have to be brave for ourselves and we have to be brave for each other. We have to make sacrifices for both ourselves and others too. And we have to value our friendships. Sometimes, we have to risk being a little bit uncomfortable for our friends. Hiding from the truth and shying away because we're afraid won't solve any problems. So, from this day forward, because of you I will be a better friend. I won't be afraid to reach out. I'm just sorry that it took so long for me to realize. I'm sorry you never knew me as a better friend.
I know you won't read this and I don't know if anyone will but I hope if someone does, they take my advice. Be strong for your friends. Love your friends. Because they will die - and so will you. But they might die sooner than you and, even when you see it coming, it's so hard. It's unbelievably hard to look at the calendar and think that I'll never see her again. She'll never be at another party ever again. If you fail them now, I promise you'll regret it later. So don't be afraid, be brave and fight for your friends. They deserve it. Lindsey deserved it.
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