Grief is a crazy, hazy, bizarre thing.
I’ve lost loved ones before, but it’s been after a long illness … never something so sudden, so implausible.
And not someone young and healthy, who was at the most wonderful place where all the stars were aligning for her: their adoption was in progress, they had a new case worker, and everything was happening the way it should happen.
And then Wednesday, all that changed.
I think that’s what’s making the loss of Rachel feel that much more monumental — the suddenness of it all.
That, coupled with the fact that she was such a part of my regular, day-to-day life … snapping, texting, emailing … we spoke multiple times a day about mundane things. Big things. Everything in-between.
We spoke about things our husbands wouldn’t “get,” things other friends might not understand (hello, our shared love of lululemon or our body image issues), things just that came up during our day that we’d find funny or ridiculous that no one else would get (inside jokes, etc.).
I was explaining to Luis last night how I’m realizing now just how often we were in touch throughout the day … I spoke probably more frequently than anyone else (via text/email) and that has been painfully obvious to me as I wait for texts and emails that won’t come.
He’s been amazing … a rock for me. He hugged me close and said how I’m feeling is natural; she was such a special friend to me and vice versa; we knew each other so well — and I guess if there’s any comfort it’s knowing she knew exactly how I felt about her, too. There was never a question about that; it was a very special friendship.
And now something happens — like the new clothes that arrived Friday from White House Black Market (on sale! with coupons!) that I had ordered the previous weekend that I’d wanted to show her (because we often texted photos of new clothes/shoes/bags) — and there’s no one to share it with.
There’s a funny Facebook meme about Passover … and she isn’t here to email it to.
There’s silly celeb gossip I heard that I know she’d love … and she isn’t here to tell.
It’s been a week today. One long, painful week.
Our Mexico vacation — less than two weeks ago — feels a world away … that joy, that happiness … just shaken to the core. And the void feels enormous.
I know in time the void will get full with life, and with warm memories that don’t sting and bring me to tears.
And I have SO many blessings in my life — I know this. I have never taken any of them for granted, especially not now! But just because life feels full doesn’t mean it’s wrong to grieve, mourn, be sad for a bit. Because life will go on … it already has. And it should.
Rach wouldn’t want me to be sad for too long — of this I am certain. She’s the most selfless person I know, and I think she’d want me to laugh and love and embrace every day with the vim and vigor she always did — even when it feels pretty crummy. That’s how she lived … making lemonade out of lemons.
But I can’t lie … this void is real and it’s big.
I just miss my friend and am mad she was taken from us much too soon.
Sometimes life just isn’t fair.