It's been one year since I called my best friend
from a hospital bathroom.
And one year ago, I sat in this same chair at this same computer
and wrote a poem about how I felt,
which was mostly just anger.
Now, that anger has faded
a bit, at least.
And I want to try again.
I feel sad.
Of course, I feel sad.
Because it's been a year since he died, and I miss him.
I feel angry, still.
Because it sucks that I have to go through high school without him,
and it sucks that he's not here to play hacky-sack with me,
and that he doesn't know how good at crosswords I've gotten.
I feel a lot of other things too.
Most of them aren't very good.
But I feel proud, too.
That I did it.
Something very bad happened to me
and I'm still here,
though there were moments that even that seemed questionable.
A year ago,
I hid in the bathroom at 1am,
after we got home from the hospital.
And I stared at the wall,
and I thought, "Fuck, if it hurts this much right now, how bad will it be in a year? Won't I miss him more with time?"
And that's exactly what happened.
There were days I was in the most pain I thought I could endure.
And the next day it would get worse.
and worse.
and worse.
and the pain gets really heavy
and it starts to drag you down
and it never gets lighter
your whole life, it never does.
And you have to choose whether to let go of everything
or to get stronger.
And so I got buff.
And I'm still working on it, cuz it's still heavy as fuck.
But a year ago, I was handed a weight.
And it almost killed me.
Almost.
But now, there's a yartzeit candle in my kitchen.
And it's weird, but I'm a little proud that I'm around to light it.
