Nine

 On Friday, it had been nine years since I got that horrible phone call from my mom at 8 AM on a Monday morning. It changed my whole world around. I can only imagine what it did for your actual family. I was just your friend. Albeit a good friend, a dear friend, maybe a little more than just a friend, but not family. I only know what it's done to me. It took me years to be able to listen to songs that remind me of you. But this year, we're singing To Make You Feel My Love for our choir show, and I can sing it without sobbing, so I must be growing. The song you chose as our song is finally getting annoying as opposed to sweet, which is fitting. Only you would chose Come On Eileen as the song that reminded you of our weird little relationship, you friggin' jerk. Have you actually listened to the words of that song? They're ridiculous. But totally fitting to how your mind worked. 

I still talk to your brother on occasion. When the Red Sox and Yankees played each other for the wild card, I told him that we couldn't be friends for that day, and he said that we would always be friends. He's pushing really hard to have the person who did this to stay in jail. He wants everyone to write victim statements about how the last years have been since this terrible change. So far, it's worked as the person's parole was denied this year, but he wants everyone to keep writing. I'm going to be perfectly honest here, I don't think I can write what he wants me to write. I'm in a relatively good place. I no longer compare every man I meet to you. I'm reaching out, meeting new people, starting conversations. I'm happy. Writing a victim note seems cheating. My life changed on that day, but I've grown. I'm not the same person I was nine years ago, though it may seem like I am. I also don't know if we collectively have the right to stop this person from being able to grow as well. Yes, they did a terrible thing nine years ago, yes, they made a horrible mistake that caused a tragic accident. But if I can grow in nine years, why can't they? Does two lives lost garner the loss of a third? Should we not turn our cheeks again and again and again? Do they not deserve a second chance at life? I'm inclined to think they do, and I don't think, following in the footsteps of Jesus, that I can be part of the campaign to take that chance away. I think there are better ways to remember your life, and I think there are better ways you would want us to act. I could be wrong though. But this could be what severs our tie. He might not be able to understand why I can't and why I don't want to. I wish I could talk to you about it. He and I don't have the same openness we had. We have a superficial relationship, and I don't know how to deepen it. I think he's angry, but I don't know how to help him, or if he even needs or wants help. He's a mystery to me. Which is so funny because you so weren't. You told me so many things. Even things I didn't want to know or hear about, you told me. What would you be like today? Where would your life have taken you? I've lost so many friendships, would yours have been one of them? Would I text you on your birthday and that's it? So many unanswered questions, so many untrodden paths. Here's what I know. October 15 will always be a hard day for me. I am grateful for the love and friendship I had in you and for the friendship I have in your brother. This grief has made me stronger and more open to sharing the love I have for others. Drugs are real bad, and I will miss you every day, some days more than others. 

~AM