The Last Goodbye

Prologue

"Crashing, hit a wall,

Right now I need a miracle,

Hurry up now I need a miracle."

You never really realize how close a song can resonate with you until you really listen. And I don't mean just listening to the song while running, or on a bus ride to school, or dancing in your room by yourself. No, I mean listening with your eyes closed, with headphones at full volume, and just ignoring everything around you. The full on "So-what-if-the-world-is-burning-I-have-this-song-and-I'm-not-letting-it-go-to-waste" type listening.

I tend to do that a lot. The listening so hard it makes you want to cry thing. For me, music is everything. I can't make music, but it still has a special place in my heart, right next to Lacey's spot. I tried piano and guitar and it never turned out well. I can't sing for my life. But listening to music? I've got that down. Look into my iPhone music section, (metaphorically, of course. No one is allowed in my music) and you've opened a window to my soul. Every single song in there has a deep and personal meaning to me. My music selection is weird. But then again, so am I. It has a mix of everything to pop music to ballads to rock to the universally-hated Nickelback, which doesn't necessarily fit into any of those labels.

Like I said. My music selection is like opening a window to my soul. Every single note, every lyric, every phrase means something to me. A song can bring me back to the saddest moment in my life, or a time when I did something I regret, all through words that someone else wrote.

And that's the most beautiful thing about music. What means something to you can mean something totally different to the person who wrote the song, or the person sitting next to you. Lyrics and words and phrases and chords and riffs in a song are the one thing that we can all agree on in music. We know the lyrics and the words and the phrases and the chords but we don't know what they mean. And that's the one part of music that depends on the listener, not the composer or the lyricist or the singer.

"I need you, I need you, I need you right now

Yeah I need you right now."

I press pause on the song playing through my favorite headphones, and need to stop for a moment to process. For most people, "Don't Let Me Down" by The Chainsmokers is a fun, upbeat song to hear on the radio in the car. For me, it brings back memories that I don't want to think about.

Lacey.

I can't think about Lacey. I can't do that to myself. She's the one person I need right now, and she's the one person I can't have. She made a promise to me that she broke and I'll never forgive her. I don't want to be angry at her. I know it's not her fault. I know she had to let go. But she made a promise. She promised that she wouldn't leave me. That she wouldn't let go.

I don't like to think that she did let go. Because I know her better than that. I know that she didn't want to let go. I know that she could not have stood another round of chemo. But I like to think that maybe if she could...she could be with me today. And she's not. She's not here and I don't know what to do with myself.

It's been a year. It's been exactly a year since she left me, crying, next to her hospital bed, holding her hand. It's been a year since my tear-stained pillow has been completely dry.

It's been a year since cancer took Lacey's life, and in turn, mine.