Archive for grief

Phonies.

Posted in Love, Writing with tags , , , , , , , , , on July 2, 2010 by Sara Lilly

I’m writing in this practically everyday now because the boss is on vacation and there are no manuscripts coming to my desk to read at work. So, I pass the time by playing FreeCell, this donating-rice thing my co-worker sent me a link to, and this. (ADD moment: Holland just took the lead over Brazil! WHA?!)

My friend and I drink tea every Sunday night together like old women. We laugh, we cry–really, we do. I was talking to her about my frustration over the shitty manuscripts I read because some of these “writers” think anyone can write a book. That’s offensive to me and one of my co-workers as writers. It’s like telling a heart surgeon, “Anyone can perform a triple bypass!”  (ADD moment #2: Felipe Melo was just red-carded after having scored an own goal earlier. Shit, the Brazilians are going to kill him.) I told my friend I can’t stand people who try to be what they’re not, who claim to be something deep and yet they’re so empty–

“I know where that feeling started,” she said, “and why you get so worked up about it.”
“What?”
“It started when our friend died and this girl wore jeans and a tank top to his funeral.”

I still vividly remember sitting between two guy friends and looking across the aisle at this girl. She was blonde and had on a red spaghetti strap tank top and blue jeans. Her hair was back in a ponytail and she was pressing away on the keys of her cell phone. I was filled with unbelievable frustration and mostly anger–what the fuck was she doing there? Was she just hanging out for the sake of telling everyone she went? That level of disrespect was such a low blow. It probably sounds so trivial to people reading this but my and my friends entire lives changed forever because one death and here was this girl, in beach clothes, on her cell phone. She probably went to the mall afterwards and said something like, “Oh yeah, I went to the funeral–sad. So you want to get your nails done?”

 My best friend cried every day for a year. I was sitting in therapy four years later. And the girl who showed up to the funeral in jeans went on just fine.

Whenever I see someone doing something shallow or being immature or submitting a shitty manuscript that they think is gold, I think of the girl at his funeral in the red tank top and jeans.

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Revelations and Closure? Maybe…

Posted in Love with tags , , , , , , on April 27, 2010 by Sara Lilly

I’ve already spoken about my emotional baggage. I’m seeing a therapist for complicated grief. Anyway, she told me the most amazing thing yesterday,

“It’s okay to be angry.”

After my friend killed himself, I was angry. Furious. But everyone told me, “You shouldn’t be angry, no. He’s dead, we have to remember him. Don’t be angry.” So I wasn’t. I grieved and I praised him and I missed him and I loved him.

“There’s this thing in our culture where we idolize those who have died,” my therapist said. “Someone can be a drug addicted wife beater and when he dies, people will still cry at his funeral and talk about how much of a wonderful person he was. Who’s to say we can’t be mad?”

So I went on a rant. This is it:

Dear friend,

I am pissed off. Why? You left me. Get that? You bailed. This world sucks, I know, I’m living it. We were all sixteen–you think we didn’t have issues? You think it wouldn’t have been just as easy to die instead of sticking it out? You abandoned me. You hurt me. You wrecked me. You ruined a part of me and tainted the best memories I have of high-school. You made me feel guilty. You made her cry everyday for a year. Your dying was a final, “FUCK YOU!” and I am MAD for that.

So when I die and I see you, I will punch you in the face. Afterwards, I’ll hug you cause you’re still my friend and we’ll play cards like we used to when we were sixteen.

Love always,

Me.

God that feels so good. It’s okay to be angry.

Emotional Baggage

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , on April 9, 2010 by Sara Lilly

When I was in talks with the lovely 28-year-old that I’ve previously mentioned, we exchanged our “emotional baggage.” It’s what everyone should go through at the start of a relationship–All right, give me the 411 on all your problems so I know what to expect and what I’m getting myself into. Here’s mine:

I lost a friend to suicide when I was fifteen. His death wrecked me. It knocked me down with a wave of shock, and I’ve been struggling to get up since. I’ve managed to trek my feet along and move on with my life, but I’m seeing a psychologist weekly for traumatic grief therapy. I’m pretty normal though: I’m on the Dean’s List, I’m not a loner, I don’t drink alcohol and I don’t do drugs. Every now and then I cry my eyes out and I think about him every day.

Some days I wonder what I would be if he never died. What would I be if this burden was lifted from my shoulders? If I had a clear mind, if guilt didn’t engulf me, if I never missed someone so desparately and passionately?

My best friends know the memories of four years ago still haunt me. My mom gets it a bit. No one else though. I’m just me. It’s funny–because I seem to have no understanding of the person I was before his death. I have nothing in common with that girl. It’s like she was a different person. I wonder how people still recognize me.