Tag Archives: death

Two Years, Two Heartbeats…

…it’s all the same.

In just 3 days, it will be the two year anniversary of your death. Two years is a long time, but in this case it still feels like two heartbeats – if that – that I lost you.

And just like that day that you were simply gone, I’m still addressing everything to you, still waiting for a response.

Of course I’m not the only one who lost you. We all did. I think about the others who lost you often. What their hearts must have felt like. Is grief just grief or does each person bear their own brand of grief? Each one of us had a different story that tied to yours, so does that mean we each get our own grief? In that case, are we alone? Surely not right?

Did it rain that night? Was it pouring on me as I moved quickly down the partly lit streets to find comfort in Molly’s? Or am I remembering one of the countless times I ran through the rain just to pop in and say hi? I don’t really remember many details about that day, but I remember, whether it was raining or not, that my heart was beating too loudly, to strong and too unevenly as I still reeled and walked in dry-eyed and polite as I walked past Molly’s family only to sit down on her bed, rub my eyes, and curl into her for the onslaught of tears.

With every ounce of honesty in me, I can tell you that life changed for me that day. You had affected me too much for me to not constantly compare my relationship with you to everyone else around me. You always were and always will be everyone’s Golden Boy, and no one shines as brightly to this day.

Don’t let this letter deceive you. Really, I’ve been doing well. The sadness isn’t as cloying or ever-present. I’m not always dwelling on the grief, but once in a while it does get the best of me. And when the sadness and pain and grief clear away, I’m so grateful for all the happy moments that we shared; for the quiet, radiating love in everything that you did and still do for me every time something or someone reminds me of you.

love,

the aly to your jack

The Impact of One Life

How often do people dread the date on a calendar? Never in my life have I ever stopped to ask that question before. If I’ve dreaded a date, that’s what I did. I dreaded it. But like I said, I’ve never stopped to actually think about how often people dread a date on a calendar.
I’ve dreaded exam dates before. I’ve dreaded awkward and/or painful doctor’s appointments before. But this is the first time I’ve ever dreaded this date.

May 23rd. Last year, it fell on a Thursday, and I didn’t know any better. This year it falls on a Friday, and I wish it didn’t exist. If it didn’t exist, maybe the events that day would’ve never happened? It’s the date that one of my best friends left this earth. For almost a year now, anytime someone asks “What’s today’s date?” and it happens to be the 23rd, I always pause and go “It’s been (insert number) months since I last talked to him.” “It’s been (insert number) months since he’s smiled on this earth.”
I still wonder and I still don’t understand why he’s no longer here. I mean, I do. It was a car accident. It was bad. He died.
But…. I also just don’t get it. It’s something that I’ve had to think about a lot over the past 11+ months and I still have no answers.

There aren’t any guarantees that there will ever be any earthly answers to many of the questions I have, but I just hope that I’ll find more peace as I keep traveling in this life that is no longer his to be part of.

Morning Thoughts

Sometimes people sneak up on you and stay longer than you expected them to stay. Sometimes they don’t stay as long as you’d like, but your life shows signs of them being there. This morning I’m thinking of M—. Not in a bad way and it’s definitely not as sad a thought as it could be. I still can’t believe our lives intersected but I can believe that I’m so lucky that they did. 

So I guess my conclusion is that we should love the people we have while we have them, because they can leave us in the most unexpected of ways… much like the very unexpected ways that they entered our lives in the first place.