Somehow it never gets easier.
I experienced a lot of loss when I was younger. My sister and my father passed away, in 2009 and 2010 respectively. Between 2016 and 2020, 3 of my grandparents and 2 of my great grandparents passed away as well. And I know my maternal grandmother’s time is also coming to a close. Although, God willing, not too soon.
I will always remember sitting on the back porch of my granny’s house and talking to my mom when her father died. When she asked me if it ever gets easier. If it ever hurts less.
And I said no. You just get used to it.
In 2022, one of my best friends experienced the loss of his girlfriend.
I’ll always remember his voice, at her funeral breaking. “I was going to marry her.”
I’ll remember talking to him late that night, him crying on the phone, asking me if it ever gets easier.
And I said no. You just get used to it.
It feels strange to be this person for people. The person that’s dealt with death. Especially when I still don’t really know how to deal with it.
You hurt. And you ache. And you cry and cry and clench your pillow in the middle of the night years from now when they cross your mind and you wonder why you haven’t healed.
And I wish I had a better answer for them.
I knew Michael for 7 years. We were only really close for about 3. And the closest for 1, our senior year. And I went to school with a lot of boys named Michael, and I was friends with an alarming amount of them. And each Michael had a nickname between me and my mom. An adjective to describe them. This Michael was “French Horn Michael.”
I stumbled across two videos you took using my phone, for some reason, in band class. Probably because my phone addiction started young, and I would sneakily prop my phone against the stand and click around on it while we weren’t playing. That year we were stand partners (for the majority of the year at least) and much like me, many of Michael’s friends had graduated the year prior. Me being a goody-two-shoes and him adding me to his story where he was making LSD gummies was clearly a match made in heaven. And by the end of the year, I actually, believe it or not, enjoyed spending time with him immensely.
My “Michael Lipan” stories are some of my favorites from high school to tell. The big golden spoon you stole from Walmart, and you inviting me to street race our minis. I called you crazy, of course, and “politely” rejected the invitation. I use the LSD story to try and prove to people that I was cool in high school. So cool, I was offered drugs (which I graciously rejected, and told you that you were stupid for selling them.) The junior/senior wars story, where I drove you to your car so you wouldn’t get kidnapped. Papers flying everywhere as the juniors grabbed your bookbag.
I always admired you. Your confidence. And humor. How unabashedly authentic you were. And you were still cool.
I hope you know you were admired. But I’d imagine you would know.
You always seemed to know how awesome you were.
Loser.
I really am so glad I got to meet you. I think you made my life a lot better, and I’m not sure you knew that. So. Thank you.
I’ll see you later.
And to anyone still reading this from our side of the ethereal plane, just know, it never gets easier.
You just get used to it.
And there’s something beautiful about that.
Everyone I’ve ever loved will get my tears and my heart and I will ache for them.
And I will drive, again, 1, 5, 10 hours to see you one last time.
I’ll cry at the thought of doing anything but crying. For a few hours. Or a day. And again when you cross my mind for the first time in years, many years from now.
And I’ll wish we could’ve talked more. And that things went differently.
And I’ll be so grateful I knew you.
Death hurts. More than anything. But the pain is proof we are alive, and I’m grateful to experience it.
And I’m lucky that my heart is full enough to feel it so intensely and sincerely.
Love is infinite.
I will never regret having loved you, or anyone.