Grief

“Grow up.”

Those were her last words to me. 

When we were at the hospital, I hadn’t had the chance to speak to her again, with the machines hooked up to her body and the cpap machine against her mouth. The girl on the hospital bed was named Ellie Quinn, my college classmate and my best friend since the first grade. It rocked my entire world to see someone who I’ve looked up to for so long be on that bed. She looked so small; she looked so frail. Ellie wasn’t the kind of person to look frail. She wasn’t the type to succumb to anything life threw at her — but after the car crash, I guess I kind of forgot that Ellie was mortal just like the rest of us. 

It’s ironic, really, because she was the kind of girl who wouldn’t take no for an answer. She was loud, inquisitive, and yet she charmed the pants off of anyone if she just put her mind to it. I was one of those people she happened to charm. Our friendship was more than rocky as we got older — Ellie was also very jealous, and maybe even a bit codependent. I was codependent on her, too. It was New Years Eve and Ellie and I were throwing a party at the sorority before we got drunk and began to argue. I was so black-out drunk that I don’t even remember what we were even arguing about —- but one thing led to the other, and before I knew it, Ellie was storming into her car and crashed into a building. She was barely alive. 

Standing at Ellie’s gravestone made me think a lot about myself. I wish I could have told her what she meant to me. I wish I could hold her just one more time. I wish, and I wish, and I wish… But no amount of wishing will bring her back. 

People always say that I should move on, because that’s what Ellie would have wanted of me. I know that’s not true. Ellie was a selfish girl. She’d want me to dwell on it forever, stuck knowing that her life and my own were so interlocked that it felt empty without her in it. She’d be right. It’s near nighttime that I visit her grave. I examine the letters so intricately carved into the stone every time, reading them over and over again as if it’ll say something new. Maybe I’m convinced that one day it’ll disappear. Maybe one day I’ll wake up from the nightmare and see Ellie sleeping beside me. I’ll see her chest rise and fall at a peaceful pace instead of watching it quake and become more shallow. The beeping- oh, the beeping- will be replaced by her laughter. It’ll be replaced by a corny joke she’ll tell, and I’ll roll my eyes and joke about how annoying she is. We’ll walk beside the ravine together.. 

I come back to my empty dorm at 12 A.M. I have classes at 8 in the morning. My professors have threatened to let me go because my grades have begun plummeting. They don’t understand. They say they do. They say that everyone experiences loss, and that I should let myself grieve. I am not allowed to grieve. Ellie and I promised that we’d finish school together, but now it’s only me. I can’t keep her promise. I can’t keep any promises. I failed.

I flunked college and moved back in with my parents. I rarely if ever spoke to them, because the first thing they asked was why — why did I flunk college, if I was doing so well? It’s as though they hadn’t seen my glazed-over eyes during the funeral. It’s as though they had no idea. I holed up in my childhood room and removed any photo of Ellie that stayed behind. Our prom, our eighth grade fundraiser, the multiple photos pinned sloppily against the walls with the peeling paint. My parents don’t bother me much. 

A year has passed since then. 

“Don’t you think it’s time you’ve made new friends?” My mother asks one day. 

I tilt my head up, slipping it halfway out of the covers from my old and dirty blanket. I stare at her. 

“It’s been a year.” She continues. “I’m worried for you. Everyone’s worried for you.” 

I duck under the covers again. 

“Madeline-” I hear her get closer. “Madeline, get up. If you can’t go outside and- oh, I don’t know, go to a coffee shop or something — then I am going to kick you out. Do you hear me?”

“This isn’t how you deal with a grieving daughter.” I mutter. I’ve heard her. 

“I know, Maddie.” My mother whispers. I can tell she’s hurting, too. Ellie was like a second daughter to her. 

Time passes, and I eventually sit upright, sliding the blanket off of my shoulders and letting it rest beside my waist. Although I have not showered in a few days, my mother wraps her arms around me in a tight embrace. There’s a growing wet mark against my shoulder. Yes, I feel it. My mother sniffles against me. I feel my heart sink. 

“Oh, Madeline, I miss you. I miss my daughter.” My mother hiccups. 

“I miss Ellie.” I whisper. 

“I miss Ellie, too.” 

I had not noticed it at the time, but tears began spilling from my eyes and falling onto the bed. I just sat there. My mother was holding me as though letting go would have caused me to disappear forever, and all I did was sit there. I hadn’t really been able to cry the entire year. I hadn’t been able to cry when Ellie died. I couldn’t. I couldn’t make it about me when her family was hurting more. I couldn’t cry when her brother caressed his mother’s shoulder as she weeped openly. Ellie’s mother had screamed and begged a God above to have taken her instead. It should have been her in that car, she said. How could I have possibly cried? 

Now, I let it all out. I let my mother cry, and I let myself cry. It’s the first step to healing, I’ve been told. It feels like hours before we’ve stopped weeping. My mother talks to me some more. We reminisce. And finally, I agree to take a shower and take in the fresh air. My mother says she’ll clean up my room while I’m gone. 

As I make it to the local coffee shop, I come across a familiar face. I guess my awkward staring trying to determine who it is got the man looking at me, too. He perks up, says something quickly to the girl next to him and then heads over to my table. 

“Madeline, hey! Oh, it’s so good to see you. It’s me, Jordan. I’m Ellie’s brother, do you remember me?”

Boy, do I. 

I smile and nod. “Yes, of course. How have you been?”

Jordan sits down next to me. “I see you grew your hair out. Your curls have always been so pretty.” A gentle smile. He motions to the woman at the table he was sitting at. “That’s my cousin. I’m taking care of her baby right now.” 

“Hey, listen, I-” He starts suddenly. I raise a brow. Jordan lowers his voice. “Can we… Go to the park or something, later? I want to catch up.” 

I pause. Then I smile. “Of course, Jordan.” 

Days became weeks and weeks became months then years, and since then I can safely say that Ellie would be proud of the woman I’ve become. I’m now married to Jordan, and we have two beautiful children together. We have a happy family. A portrait of Ellie is in the hallway, and my children always ask who that woman is. She’s become something of a role model.

Occasionally I’ll think about Ellie, and the way I felt when she first died. I remember the days of sleeping late and dropping out of college. I remember the pain; I remember the grief. I recognize it as an important chapter of my life that led me to where I am now. I only have one thing to say.

I made it, Ellie. 

I grew up.