Before I moved to Alaska I spent close to a month in Tallahassee. It was there, while out to dinner with friends and later at a bar called Poor Paul’s I met a girl, fell in love as a 26-year-old does, and had a super-duper intense and brief relationship. It was enough to make me not want to move to Alaska, and while in the Last Frontier I missed her terribly. Inevitably our relationship and friendship deteriorated. When I visited Alaska this last August I was in a used bookstore, the Title Wave, and was reminded about how I used to text her from there and ask her advice on what to read next. I texted her, and eventually we began talking again. She was fresh out of rehab, which was great and necessary, and was living in a halfway house in Pensacola. I told her I could visit when I would drive back to Tallahassee. We reconnected and realized how important it was to be a part of each others lives. I visited her every time I drove through town, which has been often these past 2 months. Last Wednesday we were to meet in her new town, Mobile, at noon. I was an hour and a half late which was unfortunate because she had to meet her parents at a specific time so they could drive north to see family for the holiday. We made it work and we went to a coffee shop called Carpe Diem where we exchanged gifts. She gave me homemade cake, and I gave her a book and mix cd.

I came home to Tallahassee, had wine, and fell asleep. I got a call the next morning at 8 from her father, who told me that she passed away one hour after we left the parking lot. She sat down to eat with her family, was in a great mood, and collapsed. Her heart stopped beating. As death cliches go, I have three. 1. It’s not fair. 2. I miss her. 3. I can’t believe she is gone. Her face and mannerisms were still so fresh in my mind, and I fear how this will fade with time 

I’ve had experience with this, this death thing, and it is difficult and impossible to figure out how to mourn and honor the dead. I stare at her picture. I stare into space. I wonder if she listened to the cd. I don’t believe in heaven. I believe that we return to the earth. I read a quote once that spoke of the power of the dead, how we secretly feel they are watching us. But they are in the ground, crumbling. And perhaps we are what the dead dream… Or something. How do you move on? I feel like I can’t, but I will, but I feel like a part of me has passed with her. Everything I see I am reminded of her. You know… this is what happens when someone dies… or something.

I showed her a piece of art I’ve been meaning to finish since I started it in Alaska. I am resolved to finish it now, and I am doing a good job at doing it so far, and the art will always be for her. I ate the cake she gave me. How could I not. But I’m throwing away the Tupperware.

The humor and fucked up coincidence is we last saw each at a place called Carpe Diem. As any traumatic or large event tends to do, I am reevaluating things. But for now I just wish there was a more poetic way of saying and feeling the words ‘I miss you’.