![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Apr. 9th, 2012 06:19 pmA friend of mine from work died last week. She died of strep throat. It was quite sudden. She was 25. I've never experienced someone I knew so well dying so unexpectedly. While we didn't hang out outside of work, I'd hoped that we'd get to the point in our friendship where we would. She was one of my favorite people at work.
I didn't want to talk to people at work about it at the time; I still don't want to talk about the shock or horror of it, the why why why. And yet I do find myself wanting to talk about how vehemently she despised the term "fro-yo," how she insisted upon the banana terms in Bananagrams, her experiments in English muffins, our discussions about art versus illustration versus craft, how often she needed to eat, how persistent she was in reminding me about the whale song activity without ever becoming frustrated with me, and how she looked when she smiled.
I don't want to speak of her death, and yet I do want to speak of that I cannot speak of her death. I don't want to express grief, only discuss how other people do it. It didn't comfort me when I cried (later, alone); it only comforted me that I was able to cry, like other people do. I consider mortality all the time, and yet I have never been able to fear it like so many other people seem to. Now I do, and yet this, too, will pass. Sometimes I worry about how distantly I am tethered to reality.
When my boss told us, there was a bowl of Clementines on her desk. I thought it would be the wrong time to ask for a Clementine, but it was all I really wanted.
I didn't want to talk to people at work about it at the time; I still don't want to talk about the shock or horror of it, the why why why. And yet I do find myself wanting to talk about how vehemently she despised the term "fro-yo," how she insisted upon the banana terms in Bananagrams, her experiments in English muffins, our discussions about art versus illustration versus craft, how often she needed to eat, how persistent she was in reminding me about the whale song activity without ever becoming frustrated with me, and how she looked when she smiled.
I don't want to speak of her death, and yet I do want to speak of that I cannot speak of her death. I don't want to express grief, only discuss how other people do it. It didn't comfort me when I cried (later, alone); it only comforted me that I was able to cry, like other people do. I consider mortality all the time, and yet I have never been able to fear it like so many other people seem to. Now I do, and yet this, too, will pass. Sometimes I worry about how distantly I am tethered to reality.
When my boss told us, there was a bowl of Clementines on her desk. I thought it would be the wrong time to ask for a Clementine, but it was all I really wanted.