They’ll Know You

I have a new friend now and she’s a lot like you.

She doesn’t have your bright blue eyes, your obsession with Peter Pan, or your big white smile... she’s not you.

She has brown eyes.

She is taller than me though

And she does like Disney.

She smiles with her teeth, like you, and she has more of a fashion sense than I do.

She’s wild and crazy like me though and likes tattoos and dying her hair.

I know I was always the crazy one.

I’m giving her Christmas presents that I would otherwise give to you. They’re all things I know you’d like, and that is why I am so sad.

I miss you, I miss giving you gifts.

I miss going to the movies with you and taking our photos at the photo booth.

I miss your birthday and Christmas with you.

I miss skipping church and talking with you.

I miss your shoulder to cry on, I miss your ear to gossip to.

I miss your voice and your laugh.

She makes it a little better sometimes, when she’s not like you.

But now we write letters to each other, like we used to.

Now the pain is back but I still smile at her and tell her about my days.

It’s back to missing you and your odd nails, your purple lips that you hated so much. I never told you, but I liked your lips because they were different, and they were yours.

There were a lot of things I wasn’t able to tell you.

I hate that you were so sick all the time.

All the hospital trips.

You never liked anyone to come see you, to see you like that, especially me.

Hooked up to wires like a puppet, looking paler than usual, not as much life in you.

But I didn’t mind. I didn’t mind pushing you in a wheelchair. I didn’t mind your fatigue at random times.

There’s so many things I miss about you. You’re still my best friend.

There are things I’ll do with her that I was never able to do with you.

I wanted to be able to drink with you on my 21st.

I wanted you to be my maid of honor.

I wanted to tell you I was pregnant.

I wanted you to meet my son.

But you never got the chance.

You never got the chance to turn 18, to graduate.

Never got the chance to drink, to lose your virginity, to be wild and crazy and free.

I hate that. I hate that I wasn’t able to see you before you died. They wouldn’t let me, and it feels like there’s a hole in my chest. I don’t know if seeing you would’ve helped, but it at least would feel more real.

It wouldn’t just be a phone call.

I remember it like it was yesterday, I remember dropping, falling to the floor. The tears were too slow for my screams.

It’s been years now, so everyone’s tired of me talking about you, so I guess I just stopped, until now.

The heartache never fades and the tears will keep falling when I see your face in a photo, or read one of our letters.

But I know you don’t want me to cry over you, you don’t want me to linger over your memory, so I will try to be strong for you, for myself, for my sons. They’ll eventually be asking about your name on my back, and I will tell them.

I’ll tell them how special you were and I’ll tell them about your addicting smile and your glowing personality and your absolute love for Disney and giraffes and pajamas and baking.

They’ll know the little things. They’ll know you, and smile.