Four years and 24 days ago, a good friend of mine passed away. He had a massive heart attack and died within minutes. He was 25.
He and I were nothing alike. He was loud, outgoing, funny; I am quiet, introverted and serious. We had almost nothing in common. We disagreed on almost everything. I have no idea how we ended up friends, but somehow, we were kindred spirits. We used to joke that we were each other's evil twin. He was one of the closest friends I have ever had, closer than people I have known much longer because we could, and did, talk about anything.
I've been trying to describe what it was like when he died, but even four years later I can't bring myself to do it. It was bad. For a long time, I held to this very highly-developed fantasy where he showed up at my house one day and said he had just wanted to get away and I screamed at him for what he had put his mother through. I had another one where we would find among his belongings a stash of letters to be opened upon his death. I could not believe that he was just... gone. I could not believe that he would just leave me like that, and for a long time I could not forgive him for it.
I did denial, and anger, and finally acceptance, because what else is there to do? But, October 14 has been a grim, black day for me ever since. One that I feel and dread coming every year. Except this year. This year I forgot. I remembered this morning, and I felt awful, like maybe I had forgotten him. Like maybe in giving up the terrible way I missed him at first, I had given up missing him at all. I haven't forgotten, and I haven't stopped missing him, and I haven't stopped trying to live the things I learned from him, but this year I was too busy living my life to mark his death. I think that would have made him happy.
I posted this last year, but it is worth posting again. Right click and save please, to hear him sing.
Miss you, Peanut.
Like crazy, baby.