"It is so much darker when a light goes out than it would have been if it had never been on." ~ John Steinbeck
When you lose someone close to you, there are a variety of things to do first.
When my friend died of cancer at the age of twenty-nine, I was only twenty-three. We lived together in a claustrophobic studio apartment in Lower Manhattan. I remember a lot of people telling me to physically move out of the apartment since he passed away there, but moving in Manhattan is never an ideal situation, especially if you are traumatized.
Many of the tasks that have to be done after death are essential. The other person's belongings need to be sorted, their finances need to be assessed, services need to be arranged, and then family and friends of the deceased need to be contacted.
To make matters worse for me, we were never married – so my right to take care of some of these things did not exist.
It took me three years to open my friend's closet. I called a friend of his when I finished. Even though she lived on the opposite coast, she booked a flight for the next month and came to my rescue.
As we went through his clothes and remembered his favorite shirts and the ones he made (he was a fashion designer), we smiled and silently began to look at individual pieces. I was trying to get a photo of him out of a picture frame and I worked on it for quite a while. My friend looked at more of his shirts. A brief twinkle of music began to play.
"That's cool, does this picture frame play music?" she asked.
I looked up to see a music box of mine nearby but completely isolated from touching another object. I played a few more strokes and then stopped abruptly.
I knew it was him.
Just as I never expected that I would carry on completely from this loss, I also hoped that he wouldn't too. I get subtle hints of his presence through dreams, and sometimes they're more tangible, like the music box.
In the months following his death, I had a lot of help from friends and family members. When it almost hit the year mark, people began to forget the reality of the pain I felt every day. I was told to “keep going” or stop writing about the loss as it could be triggering for other people. Well, I'm sorry if this "trips" you, but I will never go on.
I will continue to remember the memories of a life that was cut too early.
I will still talk about him, write about him and not force myself to forget him.
I will still recognize the signs that he is trying to reach me from another plane of existence.
I will remember the dreams about him that brought me closer to my own spirituality.
This is something that is and always will be a part of me for it is a love that was real and unique and nothing can ever replace it or diminish that memory.
If asked to move on, I urge you to acknowledge the same.
Never forget the essence of the person you have lost.
Keep writing down the adventures you have had and keep sharing them with others even though the body of the one you lost no longer exists.
Know that your pain and heartbreak are a symptom of your love and you should never be forced to move on from this unique feeling that you have experienced.
Don't make yourself smile. But encourage yourself to smile when faced with the past – or cry. (I cried once while watching a Naked Green Machine juice because it was my friend's favorite drink.)
When someone is uncomfortable talking about your loss, realize that you are uncomfortable and own it.
Someday, if you don't continue, you will be at peace. You will be at peace with your memories and existence, and you will never forget the impact the person you lost had on you.
The nice thing about them is that you will never stray from them.
About Alicia McDaniels
Alicia McDaniels moved to New York City in 2009 to pursue her passion for the creative arts. She is currently working on an online outlet to showcase creative writing and other forms of artistic expression, which can be found at www.thewritingcabin.com.
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