Thursday would have been Stephanie’s 20th birthday. It’s like a count down. June 9th. June 10th. June 11th… It’s strange to think that she’s been gone 6 years. Six years. It seems like a life time ago, and yet it seems like yesterday. I remember the first day we met. I remember the day she decided she had told me everything she had to say (she wasn’t kidding). I remember the time spent sitting next to her in New Mexico history (Steph: How do you say this name? Mr. Evans: Just say Cowhead. Steph: Okay, Cowhead… OH! I wasn’t talking about you, I was reading!) But I also remember the phone call.
How I’d love to forget that phone call. Sometimes I’d just like to close my eyes and think that it never happened. That she’d be just a phone call and two minute walk away. I’d love to just close my eyes and think it doesn’t hurt. And any other time of the year (except Christmas and January 3) that would be true. But the truth is… I haven’t been able to watch Shrek since she left. It’s funny how one good memory can make you feel so sad. Not because she’s gone but because what if I watch it and forget which parts are her favorite parts? (And why do I always lie to myself, saying on her Birthday I'll watch Shrek... and then I never do?) It’s just not the same. Or maybe it’s the fear that when the gingerbread man comes on the screen, I’d burst into tears (he was her favorite; she did a good impression).
Steph’s death was the best and yet worst thing that’s ever happened to me. And it seems so weird to say that. But it’s true. I sometimes find myself thinking I’m glad she died. Not because I don’t miss her, or because the world is better off without her (which would not be the case at all), but because I learned some things I don’t think I’d ever learn otherwise. I learned compassion first off. You should never judge anyone by their cover, because they could be the most beautiful person in the world underneath. I learned to stick up for those who mean something to you, because if you don’t… you don’t really deserve to be their friend. But mostly, I learned to love. Gosh, how many times do I look back and think how nice it would have been to turn around and tell Steph she was my best friend too. I think about that day when she bought me peanut butter cookies because she thought I was hungry (and boy was I) and she handed them to me and said “Manda, you’re the best friend I’ve ever had” and gosh, why didn’t I just say it back? It took me her death to realize she was my very best friend. Why didn’t I just say so? Why did I let what everyone else said about her get to me? That just drives me nuts. I’m sure it drives everyone else nuts now too… I say thank you a little too much or I miss you a little too often… or I love you a little too frequently. But I just can’t stand the idea that they won’t be there the next day and I didn’t tell them how much they mean. Because it happened once.
And I think how much life changed… how much I changed… when she got sick. She was so sick that I couldn’t come to see her. Not because I didn’t want to see her sick… but because I could potentially make her sick because her immune system was so shot. And I remember the few times I got to go see her in the hospital. She was so pale and the light in her eyes were just dimming. I was watching her fade away. But gosh, she was so happy to see me there. She would light up. She would talk about how she was studying for finals and what classes she wanted to take next semester. And I would advise her and cheer her on and tell her how easy the final was after I took it. And when she was loosing her hair, and her mom wanted to cut it really short so it wouldn’t be as dramatic for her… and how upset it made her because she liked her long hair… I made her laugh by telling her she could be like Dolly Parton wig and all… looking back now that joke wasn’t too funny but she laughed so hard. I could feel myself fading right along with her. I lost so many friends that year… gosh I lost Nicole and my lunch group and Pat and… how hard I tried to be that happy person again for them. But it was so hard to be happy for Steph… that I gave up trying to be happy for everyone else. I felt so broken… just ready to crack. And her mom kept telling me that I couldn’t come to see her today, but that Steph kept calling for me. And talking to me… just like I was there. All the way. Until the day she died. And I’m kind of glad she thought I was there because then maybe she didn’t feel so alone. And maybe the imaginary me told her some lame jokes that made her happy and laugh that laugh of hers. But the real me, I was cracking.
I was barely holding it together, it seemed like. And then that dumb call came on the last day of winter break. Two days late. I remember the phone ringing and how my brother answered it and handed it over to my mom. And I didn’t even have to hear it. I didn’t even have to… I knew. I knew the moment my mom said hello that she was gone. And I just started to cry and my poor brother stood there, trying to convince me that it wasn’t the call. But it was. I remember exactly what I was wearing and how I felt and what I did that day. My parents left to go out somewhere. And Brian and I sat there playing video games (which trust me, was a huge deal since he would rarely let me play on a normal day). He wouldn’t let me out of his sight (thanks). I had to convince him I just needed a drink. I watched a rerun of Providence. I took a walk around the block. I felt numb. I didn’t feel horribly sad. I didn’t feel mad. I felt shocked. It didn’t hit me until I went to school the next day.
I cried in every class. I had a sub in science. She probably thought my boyfriend broke up with me or that I was going to slit my wrists. She asked me if I needed to talk to someone. But I just shook my head. And then it was lunch. And I was waiting for Nicole right at the doors of the cafeteria. That’s when it dawned on me… that Steph wouldn’t be walking through that door ever again… that I wouldn’t have to wait for her ever again. And I remember just doubling over because I was crying so hard. Peers I had never met before in my life were surrounding me, holding me up, asking me if I was okay. And I felt so miserable and horrible and terrible. And I was so angry because why did it have to be her? Why not me instead? She was the better person. But… I’m glad it wasn’t me. I feel a little selfish saying that… but it’s so true. I’m happy that I’m here because there’s work to be done that only I can do. But that day, logic didn’t prevail. That day I felt like a china doll Brian gave me for Christmas when I was in the first grade, little and small and breakable.
And then I tried to overcompensate for all that sadness. I tried so hard to be happy and perky and if you saw me freshman year, I apologize… because that wasn’t me. That’s the real reason I was trying so hard. It didn’t help that all my classmates kept telling me they couldn’t picture me sad. “Oh Mandy, you never have a bad day!” or “Oh Mandy, you must eat a lot of sugar to stay this energetic!” And the sad thing is, I was just on the edge of waiting to fall to pieces. And it took one boy. One stupid boy who told me he didn’t like me that he liked my friend… to shatter me. How stupid is that?
But sometimes we need to shatter… because sometimes that shatter can make us better when we glue ourselves back together. And I look back now and it all seems so textbook like. Girl looses best friend to cancer. Girl grieves, grows angry, starts to bargain, becomes depressed, and then accepts. But man, that process is a wench when you’re barely fifteen. When you barely know who you’re going to be. And when you've chased away all your friends who would have given you the hug you really needed. Yet, when I look back at it all, I’m so glad it happened. Because if Steph didn’t die… then I wouldn’t have realized how short life is. And I wouldn’t have found my way to Branden because I wouldn’t have taken that creative writing course in hopes that something that used to make me smile would bring a little bit of life back into me.
It’s not easy to stick the pieces back together. And it gets hard on certain dates. And I try to stay busy. I try not to remember. I try to forget what day it is. Yet, at night… I run out of steam. I run out of ambition not to think. And it all comes running back. And I always wonder, one year from now… six years from now… is it still going to sting? Am I still going to get the urge to talk to Steph about how there’s going to be a Shrek 4? And is there going to be that gingerbread man in it? But then again, I’m a little relieved when it does hurt… because if it hurts then it means that I haven’t forgotten Steph and all that she taught me.
So it’s Steph birthday weekend. She would have been 20. She would have been disappointed that I get to drink legally this year and she doesn’t. But she would probably settle for something tasty and preferably Japanese. And staying up late and having a Harry Potter Marathon. Her goal, of course, would be to keep me up as late as possible until I started to become grouchy that she was keeping me up (by watching the same movie over and over and over). That Stephanie. And looking back now, while it seemed like a horrible experience for me on her 14th Birthday (because, seriously, who wants to watch the first Harry Potter movie ten times in a row? It's good but come on)… I wished I would have known it would be her last… because I would have laughed a little louder… and stayed up past five watching the first Harry Potter movie repeatedly, just to make her a little more happier than she already was that night. What I wouldn’t give for that one day back, just this once. Just for today.
I didn’t cry on Thursday. You would have been proud, and I didn’t cry Friday. Or Saturday. But, I didn’t plan on tonight. But then again, it’s easy not to cry when I keep telling myself your birthday isn’t this day… it’s another day. I just ran out of days that could be acceptable (Her birthday can't possibly be June 11... I recall it being June 12... no... June 14). But I didn’t cry on your actual birthday, so I figure I earn some of those peanut butter cookies, huh? So happy birthday, Steph. Break out the kettle corn (You wouldn’t be in Heaven without the kettle corn, right?)
How I’d love to forget that phone call. Sometimes I’d just like to close my eyes and think that it never happened. That she’d be just a phone call and two minute walk away. I’d love to just close my eyes and think it doesn’t hurt. And any other time of the year (except Christmas and January 3) that would be true. But the truth is… I haven’t been able to watch Shrek since she left. It’s funny how one good memory can make you feel so sad. Not because she’s gone but because what if I watch it and forget which parts are her favorite parts? (And why do I always lie to myself, saying on her Birthday I'll watch Shrek... and then I never do?) It’s just not the same. Or maybe it’s the fear that when the gingerbread man comes on the screen, I’d burst into tears (he was her favorite; she did a good impression).
Steph’s death was the best and yet worst thing that’s ever happened to me. And it seems so weird to say that. But it’s true. I sometimes find myself thinking I’m glad she died. Not because I don’t miss her, or because the world is better off without her (which would not be the case at all), but because I learned some things I don’t think I’d ever learn otherwise. I learned compassion first off. You should never judge anyone by their cover, because they could be the most beautiful person in the world underneath. I learned to stick up for those who mean something to you, because if you don’t… you don’t really deserve to be their friend. But mostly, I learned to love. Gosh, how many times do I look back and think how nice it would have been to turn around and tell Steph she was my best friend too. I think about that day when she bought me peanut butter cookies because she thought I was hungry (and boy was I) and she handed them to me and said “Manda, you’re the best friend I’ve ever had” and gosh, why didn’t I just say it back? It took me her death to realize she was my very best friend. Why didn’t I just say so? Why did I let what everyone else said about her get to me? That just drives me nuts. I’m sure it drives everyone else nuts now too… I say thank you a little too much or I miss you a little too often… or I love you a little too frequently. But I just can’t stand the idea that they won’t be there the next day and I didn’t tell them how much they mean. Because it happened once.
And I think how much life changed… how much I changed… when she got sick. She was so sick that I couldn’t come to see her. Not because I didn’t want to see her sick… but because I could potentially make her sick because her immune system was so shot. And I remember the few times I got to go see her in the hospital. She was so pale and the light in her eyes were just dimming. I was watching her fade away. But gosh, she was so happy to see me there. She would light up. She would talk about how she was studying for finals and what classes she wanted to take next semester. And I would advise her and cheer her on and tell her how easy the final was after I took it. And when she was loosing her hair, and her mom wanted to cut it really short so it wouldn’t be as dramatic for her… and how upset it made her because she liked her long hair… I made her laugh by telling her she could be like Dolly Parton wig and all… looking back now that joke wasn’t too funny but she laughed so hard. I could feel myself fading right along with her. I lost so many friends that year… gosh I lost Nicole and my lunch group and Pat and… how hard I tried to be that happy person again for them. But it was so hard to be happy for Steph… that I gave up trying to be happy for everyone else. I felt so broken… just ready to crack. And her mom kept telling me that I couldn’t come to see her today, but that Steph kept calling for me. And talking to me… just like I was there. All the way. Until the day she died. And I’m kind of glad she thought I was there because then maybe she didn’t feel so alone. And maybe the imaginary me told her some lame jokes that made her happy and laugh that laugh of hers. But the real me, I was cracking.
I was barely holding it together, it seemed like. And then that dumb call came on the last day of winter break. Two days late. I remember the phone ringing and how my brother answered it and handed it over to my mom. And I didn’t even have to hear it. I didn’t even have to… I knew. I knew the moment my mom said hello that she was gone. And I just started to cry and my poor brother stood there, trying to convince me that it wasn’t the call. But it was. I remember exactly what I was wearing and how I felt and what I did that day. My parents left to go out somewhere. And Brian and I sat there playing video games (which trust me, was a huge deal since he would rarely let me play on a normal day). He wouldn’t let me out of his sight (thanks). I had to convince him I just needed a drink. I watched a rerun of Providence. I took a walk around the block. I felt numb. I didn’t feel horribly sad. I didn’t feel mad. I felt shocked. It didn’t hit me until I went to school the next day.
I cried in every class. I had a sub in science. She probably thought my boyfriend broke up with me or that I was going to slit my wrists. She asked me if I needed to talk to someone. But I just shook my head. And then it was lunch. And I was waiting for Nicole right at the doors of the cafeteria. That’s when it dawned on me… that Steph wouldn’t be walking through that door ever again… that I wouldn’t have to wait for her ever again. And I remember just doubling over because I was crying so hard. Peers I had never met before in my life were surrounding me, holding me up, asking me if I was okay. And I felt so miserable and horrible and terrible. And I was so angry because why did it have to be her? Why not me instead? She was the better person. But… I’m glad it wasn’t me. I feel a little selfish saying that… but it’s so true. I’m happy that I’m here because there’s work to be done that only I can do. But that day, logic didn’t prevail. That day I felt like a china doll Brian gave me for Christmas when I was in the first grade, little and small and breakable.
And then I tried to overcompensate for all that sadness. I tried so hard to be happy and perky and if you saw me freshman year, I apologize… because that wasn’t me. That’s the real reason I was trying so hard. It didn’t help that all my classmates kept telling me they couldn’t picture me sad. “Oh Mandy, you never have a bad day!” or “Oh Mandy, you must eat a lot of sugar to stay this energetic!” And the sad thing is, I was just on the edge of waiting to fall to pieces. And it took one boy. One stupid boy who told me he didn’t like me that he liked my friend… to shatter me. How stupid is that?
But sometimes we need to shatter… because sometimes that shatter can make us better when we glue ourselves back together. And I look back now and it all seems so textbook like. Girl looses best friend to cancer. Girl grieves, grows angry, starts to bargain, becomes depressed, and then accepts. But man, that process is a wench when you’re barely fifteen. When you barely know who you’re going to be. And when you've chased away all your friends who would have given you the hug you really needed. Yet, when I look back at it all, I’m so glad it happened. Because if Steph didn’t die… then I wouldn’t have realized how short life is. And I wouldn’t have found my way to Branden because I wouldn’t have taken that creative writing course in hopes that something that used to make me smile would bring a little bit of life back into me.
It’s not easy to stick the pieces back together. And it gets hard on certain dates. And I try to stay busy. I try not to remember. I try to forget what day it is. Yet, at night… I run out of steam. I run out of ambition not to think. And it all comes running back. And I always wonder, one year from now… six years from now… is it still going to sting? Am I still going to get the urge to talk to Steph about how there’s going to be a Shrek 4? And is there going to be that gingerbread man in it? But then again, I’m a little relieved when it does hurt… because if it hurts then it means that I haven’t forgotten Steph and all that she taught me.
So it’s Steph birthday weekend. She would have been 20. She would have been disappointed that I get to drink legally this year and she doesn’t. But she would probably settle for something tasty and preferably Japanese. And staying up late and having a Harry Potter Marathon. Her goal, of course, would be to keep me up as late as possible until I started to become grouchy that she was keeping me up (by watching the same movie over and over and over). That Stephanie. And looking back now, while it seemed like a horrible experience for me on her 14th Birthday (because, seriously, who wants to watch the first Harry Potter movie ten times in a row? It's good but come on)… I wished I would have known it would be her last… because I would have laughed a little louder… and stayed up past five watching the first Harry Potter movie repeatedly, just to make her a little more happier than she already was that night. What I wouldn’t give for that one day back, just this once. Just for today.
I didn’t cry on Thursday. You would have been proud, and I didn’t cry Friday. Or Saturday. But, I didn’t plan on tonight. But then again, it’s easy not to cry when I keep telling myself your birthday isn’t this day… it’s another day. I just ran out of days that could be acceptable (Her birthday can't possibly be June 11... I recall it being June 12... no... June 14). But I didn’t cry on your actual birthday, so I figure I earn some of those peanut butter cookies, huh? So happy birthday, Steph. Break out the kettle corn (You wouldn’t be in Heaven without the kettle corn, right?)
