Chrissy

I was talking about death the other day, but it wasn't a sad thing. Just discussing it. It occurred to me that for being as young as I am, I've known a lot of death.

My grandparents, both sets, my mother. Coworkers and acquaintances and friends. It's Chrissy's death that haunts me.

She saved my life. Every time I write that or say it aloud, I start to cry because I miss her so.

I was on the back porch, my hand clutched around a bottle of pills. I don't even remember how I got them but there they were. I was sitting on a rock wall, my back to the gate when she came in. I wasn't thinking about anything except the sweet relief I was sure awaited me. I heard her say my name but it didn't register. I didn't even look up until she took the bottle.

She was crying when I looked up at her and I was surprised to feel I was too. I let the tears fall, watched hers fall as she asked me, "Why?"

I didn't know. I still don't. But she made me stop and try and figure it out.

I started therapy soon after that and she drove me to nearly every appointment. She'd wait for me and was willing to talk or listen on the ride home-whichever I needed. Sometimes we'd just listen to music. She sat with me when all I could do was cry and she'd laugh with me when I found something to smile about. She threw me a surprise party that I knew about and invited friends I hadn't seen in years just to remind me I was loved.

She fucking saved me.

She died too young. People often say that when someone leaves but she really did. She was only 34.

I remember the day I got the phone call. I was at work and it was the day after Valentine's Day. My best friend was on the line and when she said it, at first I thought she was joking. How could our friend possibly be dead?

Me and Chrissy had drifted over the years. She did some things, I said some things, we both had regrets. I'd heard she wasn't doing particularly well but you never think...

When it sunk in that she was really gone, l died too. An overwhelming mix of guilt and sadness washed over me and I couldn't do anything but cry.

I went to the viewing, something I'd never done before. It was surreal.

There were people I'd grown up with and hadn't seen in years, sitting in chairs clutching kleenex.  We said hello to each other in somber tones and awkward hugs. I saw her son, so young, and felt my heart break. I wanted to go to him, tell him I knew what it was like to lose your mom but I didn't. I couldn't. She was his mom and my friend. How could I know what it was like?

I remember there was music playing. Her cousin had been in charge of picking what to play and when I recognized it was New Kids on the Block, I had to smile. She would have loved the cheesiness of it. Her mother sat in the front row, occasionally going to the casket at the front of the room to stand quietly.

I had quit smoking but went outside anyway. It was raining. Or was it? I can't remember. I felt so awful. The guilt I had of not reaching out to her was reflected in other's faces. I wanted to talk about it, but how do you say you're sorry to someone that's not there anymore?

I wasn't going to look at her. I hadn't seen her in so long and I just wanted to remember how she used to be. Smiling and flirty, a phone or a cigarette in her hand. If I closed my eyes I could still see her reach into her pocket for chapstick and hear her laugh. It was so hard to believe she was gone. I had to look.

I didn't tell my friends I was getting up I just walked to the front of the room and approached the casket.

She was an odd color. Her skin was a yellowy beige and her hands looked old folded on her chest. She was wearing an Adidas sweatshirt, a favorite staple in her wardrobe, and matching shoes. She didn't look like she was sleeping.

I didn't cry at first. I just stood there, staring. I don't know how much time passed before I started talking to her.  I told her I was sorry. I told her she was loved, that I'd never stopped loving her and that just because I hadn't been there lately, it didn't mean I hadn't cared. I told her I was sorry she had been sad and sick and angry. I told her I was sorry I couldn't save her the way she'd saved me.

I wanted to touch her but couldn't. I just looked at her. "Why?"

I know I'm here because of her. I am able to live because of her. She helped me in a way I never would have been able to return. I only wish I'd had the opportunity to try.