I failed horribly at Holidailies this year. First we moved this month into our own little place and between packing, moving, unpacking (still working on). Then, on the 16th I lost one of my best friends in the world. Michael and I had known one another for half of our lives. He was such a important part of my life at 19 and 20 that a lot of our friends always thought we would end up married to one another.
We didn’t, obviously, but, we were friends, even through the time we lost from my anger at years old hurts, I still thought about him, wondered how he was, and hoped he was having a good life. And, when we made up and our friendship was renewed, I found out he had done the same over the years.
Michael was one of the most sensitive souls I have ever known. He could pick up on how you were feeling, even when you tried to hide it. If he hurt you, he felt the pain, himself and would do anything to make it better.
It is so incredibly hard to be writing about him in the past, saying was, and used to, and all of that. My brain is having the hardest time wrapping around the fact that he is gone. I miss him. Every minute since he left us, I have missed him.
I keep going to text him whatever silly thing I’ve seen, or done, or just ask him how his day is going. When it gets right around 12:30 AM, I expect to hear his text tone to let me know he’s home from work, so that we can joke and talk.
One of the things that has made this even harder is all the messages from his last day, how hard I tried to cheer him, how horrendously upset he was, and how I accidentally deleted his final text, which only consisted of “I love you, love Jenn, love my girls.”
I knew when he sent that text what he was about to do. I could feel it all the way to my soul. I contacted Jenn immediately, and she called the police to check on him. We both knew, even while we joked about kicking his ass for scaring us. We could feel it.
I’ll never forget the message I got from her telling me he was gone. Not in a million years. Nor will I forget the way my heart shattered as I hyperventilated and screamed for Tony. How I cried as I called our mutual friends and had to repeat the words, “Michael is dead, he killed himself” over and over again. Until, I couldn’t do it anymore and just sat there and sobbed.
How I wish I could change what happened. I have gone over our final conversation in my mind a million times since the 16th, wondering if I could have said anything that would have stopped him. I know everyone says it isn’t my fault, yet, it is hard to not blame myself. It is hard to know that I was the last person he talked to the one he sent his final thoughts to.
It is tearing me up inside. All I want is to wind the clock back a week and change this. I want to go back and change this, so that he is here, back with his family and friends, so that I can pick up my phone and harass him about anything.
So that I can hear his voice again.
I miss you, Michael. I always will. You are a part of my heart. Someday, hopefully when I am a little old lady, we will meet again. Until then just know you are loved by so many people including me.