My Best Friend

TW: Death

My best friend died on a sunny Friday morning, two days before National Ice Cream Day. We had planned on going to Baskin-Robbins as we did every year for National Ice Cream Day, each eating one cone with a single scoop of ice cream - plain vanilla for her and a chocolate chip ice cream cone for me. We'd enjoy the cones on a picnic table right near Baskin-Robbins, licking the ice cream from the cones as fast as we could before the summer heat caused the ice cream to melt and drip onto the ground. Then we'd take a walk at the park nearby, staying in the shade, watching the children playing on the playground, couples and families picnicking in the park, sitting on large blankets, or people taking a leisurely stroll around the paved sidewalk that circled the park. 

Outside, the world continued to spin that Tuesday morning my best friend died. I had expected the world to collapse in on itself, and I was shocked that the neighbors still mowed their lawns, that the mail still got delivered, that children giggled in excitement, and that I could hear dogs barking in the neighborhood. Because it felt like my world had collapsed - and all I could understand in my world at the moment was grief and pain.

Food no longer had any taste, and I could not find comfort in my reality and comedy TV shows, shows that my best friend and I had watched consistently during the weekend and oftentimes when my work day ended, lazily sitting on the couch together. She had always been the best listener, a sounding board for all the troubles I had with my boyfriend - and someone to cry on when we eventually broke up. We had spent hours together, meandering through the park, eating meals together, talking and talking and talking - although that was all me. I found myself sitting on the couch in front of a show on TV, staring at it, but not really seeing it, tears rolling down my cheeks as I recalled our memories together, feeling heartbroken over the ones we'd never make. My heart felt like it had been ripped in two, and I wondered how I could be alive if my heart was torn to shreds. I’m not sure how long I spent there - hours, days, or weeks - just sitting and staring into my self-created abyss. Time served no purpose other than to remind me that I was still alive, but that some inexplicable part of me had also died. 

"Why would you do this to me, God? I yelled out! It should have been me! I don't want to feel this way anymore!" 

Immediately, I also felt enraged at people in my life like my mom, who expressed that it was her time to go. "She was in pain. I know it's hard to lose her, but she's in a better place," she offered. I felt irritated at the people at work, who didn't understand that she was my best friend and that "no, we don't allow bereavement leave for a best friend, but you can use your vacation time," my supervisor had said. And I felt fury knowing that people still got to spend time with their best friends, to go on and about their day without feeling torn apart inside, to continue on with their days of normalcy. 

A bird chirped on the tree right outside my window, and I found myself walking toward and opening the window, shouting at the bird to "fuck off" and leave me in peace. It seemed to quiet, and then, flew off, as if my furious words had combined with the wind, involuntarily forcing it to fly off. I shut the window, uttering "good riddance," as I walked back into my living room to sit back down on the couch.

Suddenly, I was up and off the couch, angrily ripping down portraits from the wall of Belle and me together. 

"She never existed if I put the pictures somewhere out of sight. Out of sight, out of mind," I giggled hysterically. I gathered up all the photos I had of us, of all the stuff she left behind, and I placed them into my garage, on a top shelf in the corner. I walked back into the emptier house, but even though the walls were barer and any physical reminders of her were boxed up and put away, I could still see her in my mind, our long walks at the park, cuddling up to sleep at night, playing together, and the way she'd make me laugh.

I fell to my knees, putting my hands together in a prayer motion, and begged God just to let me see her one more time. "You can take my arm - or even my leg - just for another moment with her," I pleaded to God, my eyes closed tightly, tears streaming down my face in full force, snot bubbling out of my nostrils, loudly sobbing. But even as I implored God to let me see her again, I knew that one more time would never be enough. One lifetime wasn't even enough.

Night came and I cried myself to sleep. I saw her in a dream, licking the ice cream cone we used to eat at Baskin-Robbins every year. She looked happy - and pain-free. "I will always love you", she seemed to say, "but you need to get your life back together. I will always be with you. 

The next morning, I found myself walking out to her grave, a calm that had come over me now that I knew she was in a better place.

"Belle," I said, "placing my hand on her small, pink tombstone that read, "Belle" and underneath that the years “2010 through 2024.” I could feel tears forming in the corner of my eyes, but this time, I finally felt somewhat at peace. 

“You were never just a dog to me,” I said out loud, to her. “You will always be my best friend. I will never forget you. And whatever my version of Heaven is, I know I will see you again - for forever. Because a lifetime wasn't enough time with you, but forever is. I will always love you, Belle."

Walking back into the house, I prepared to get my life back into order and my new normal, whatever that is.