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| Sheralee, Summer and Elsa, 2008 |
How you'd always glomp me when you saw me, or sometimes just randomly.
How you'd ask me to dance with you. Even if I didn't always feel like it, it was easier to just dance than to argue with you. So I became "the crazy dancer."
How you'd try to poke my nose and I'd slap your hand.
That night in West Virginia when I walked off to look at the "moon," which ended up being a light post, and you called me Moth ever since.
The time at 217 when we were sitting in the grass, talking about our dream of becoming writers when we grew up. You said you wanted to be a freelance writer. I didn't want you to think I was stupid, so I just pretended to know what "freelance" meant.
The time at 217 when we were talking about our insecurities. I was being intentionally vague and said I was insecure about "being different." You were saying how it's a good thing to be different because the people who are different are the ones who make an impact and change the world. Even though I was referring more to being self-conscious about my physical appearance, I appreciated your insight.
That time you noticed I was sad and you were there for me when so many hard things happened at once.
Sometimes I knew something was bothering you, but I didn't know what to say or how to help. I wanted to be there for you, but it was hard when I was dealing with my own stuff. And I'm sorry if I wasn't always as good of a friend as I could have been.
One of the last times we talked on Facebook was right before you started college. I remember you saying, "I iz going 2 Hollins!!!"
It wasn't supposed to happen this way. We were supposed to grow up and grow old and become writers. I wanted to see your writing get published. Who knows--maybe someday that will still happen.
You left a hole, and I doubt you would have left if you knew how big it was and how many people loved you.
I don't know the details of what you were going through, and I can't pretend to understand how much pain you felt. I will agree with a friend who once told me, "Depression is a bitch." I have been in the place where it seemed like my only options were to die or to be miserable for the rest of my life.
As cliche as it may be to say, I know I'll see you again someday. I can see you crazy-dancing now, maybe in a colorful African dress like the one you borrowed from Allison at the 217 girls night.
As you said in a note you wrote me in 2008, "Love you very much! And God loves you 1,000,000,000 etc. times more!" <3
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| Me, Sheralee and Elsa, 2008, photo credit: Sarah Westman |
