It’s been six years. It seems impossible that it’s been that long, but that’s exactly how long it’s been. Every year on this day, I write something, and I think at first it was a coping thing but now I’m not really sure. Maybe it still is a coping thing, I don’t know. I know that I still miss you, for what it’s worth. And on this anniversary of the day you died, I always think of you. I think of you at other times too, of course, but this time of year brings back a lot of memories so even though I think I’m relatively healthy and well-adjusted, these days tend to serve as a reminder of how much it fucking sucks that you can’t be around. That’s all.
The world is a different place now. Justin Timberlake is an actor these days.
My Polish boyfriend you thought I was going to marry is now married to somebody else. It’s something I found out on Facebook. Yeah, we have Facebook now. It’s kind of like MySpace except not. I Facebook a lot (yeah, it’s also a verb) from my phone, because phones these days are more than just talk and text. I could manage my entire life with my phone, I think, because it’s an iPhone, which is another invention that came along since you’ve been gone, but seriously, that thing? It does everything, except bring me coffee in bed. It’s a weird thing, though, because you know how I hate phones? I’m on my phone all the time. Sometimes I go out with friends and there’s usually a point in the evening when none of us are talking to each other because we’re all on our phones. Facebooking. About how we’re all out together.
The world is a very strange place.
If I were to have coffee in bed, I’d have to get it myself, which I did this morning, in fact. I’m sitting here in bed with my computer and a cup of coffee and I have managed not to pour coffee all over everything. I’m a bit more coordinated now than I used to be, I think because I’ve changed. I don’t move like an apology anymore. You know what I mean. I’m still single though. I mean, if we’re not going to be neighbors with incredibly stylish children, then I don’t see what the rush is. That guy you said I shouldn’t date because you didn’t like him? I dated him. You were right, I shouldn’t have. You were right about a lot of things.
Things have changed a lot. They’re still changing, to be honest, and I’ve missed your perspective. I feel fairly unsettled lately, and there are days when I’ve wished you were here to verbally smack some sense into me, which you were always good at doing. I could use that. I always have to be so steady and together and I don’t feel like I’m either anymore. But I guess it’s not how you feel but how you behave, eh? I’ll manage. I always do. But I get tired sometimes. I never admit that, but it’s true. These days I’m at a low and tired point, but that’ll change too. Everything changes.
The point is that six years ago, on a snowy Wednesday, you were killed in a car accident on your way to work, and six years later, it’s a sunny Wednesday and I still miss you. I miss your ridiculously high-pitched laugh and I miss your paradoxically perfect yet somewhat illegible handwriting. I miss going with you to Walmart even though I fucking hate Walmart. I miss our dinner and movie nights. I miss that you understood me and still thought I was cool anyway. I miss a lot of things. It gets easier over time, but it never goes away. I miss you.
Tonight I’ll go out with a few people and have a drink in your honor, and we’ll talk and we’ll laugh. I’ll wear that amber pendant you gave me because it’s my way of taking you along, as illogical as I know that is. Six years ago, I didn’t know how I was going to make it without you, friend, and yet somehow I’ve done okay, I guess. I got a dog. That’s probably the only truly smart thing I’ve done in these past six years. She’s a really cool dog, even if she does mostly ignore me.
I love you, and I’ll do what I can to give that love to others who are here in this weird, different world. It’s the best I can do.
One thought on “for stacy, six years later”
I’m glad you write this every year. I’m glad you had such a good friend, and I’m glad she had one too. I’m sorry your friend died, but I’m glad that she’s remembered. I’m glad you have a dog. I don’t actually hate Wal-Mart, but I’m glad some people do. And again, I’m glad you write this every years.