oceans of love

"I love you not only for what you are, but for what I am when I am with you. I love you not only for what you have made of yourself, but for what you are making of me. I love you for the part of me that you bring out." -Elizabeth Barrett Browning

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I don’t understand these emotions. They’re never consistent; they’re fluid, changing from moment to moment.

I don’t understand that she’s gone. I can’t conceptualize that. The more time that passes, the more that thought suffocates me, because it’s becoming realer. I won’t see Eve again. All our wonderful memories are tinged bittersweet, because with them comes the knowledge that there won’t be any more. I think back to the last time I saw her, in late January. Her delighted kiss on the cheek, her easy affection. Saying goodbye. Then, again, a wave as she walked down the steps of Friendly. Bye, Eve.

I think of our last phone calls, making plans. I am eternally grateful that we managed to spend such time talking, discussing, laughing, being mischievous and silly and talking about the future and who we are and what scares us over those last few days. I am so, so thankful for that. And her text messages throughout the week. I wish our last conversation had been more upbeat. I wish her final day on this earth had been a happier one.

I can’t understand the horror of it all. These last days have brought even more pain to the surface, in gaining knowledge of Eve’s final moments alive. God, how she didn’t deserve such an ending. To picture her taken from the house, crouched in a car, running. Oh, my sweet, sweet Evey. I am so sorry that you had to go through such an ordeal. I am so sorry. No one should have fear that strong and terrible made manifest, least of all you. I am so sorry, Evey, and I am going to try my best to move past that part. To remember you with the connotation that you deserve. I don’t want to push past it and not grant it it’s weight—you had to live it, we can take a moment to reflect on it and hurt for you—but it will not be your legacy. We will not let it taint you.

I feel joyful. I feel joy when I think of my friend Eve. How beautiful and zany and effervescent and full of life she was!! A big hug, a huge smile, so many exclamation points!! Her face when she started dancing. Her pointed fingers when she became impassioned. The way she walked. Her fist pumps. Her expressions—so many of them. She made my life better, she challenged who I was, and she taught me so much. She allowed me to feel as though I was the one teaching her things sometimes, which is a gracious and humble thing. She let me show MY good side in so many pictures. Haha, oh Eve. I feel joyful when I think of the person you were, and blessed beyond words to have gotten to be a part of that, even for such brief a time.

I feel trapped. I feel caged in by this grief, I feel defined by my sadness. I want to get through the days without crying. Without feeling the burden of Eve’s absence all the time, without dwelling on our loss, without indulging in this overwhelming sorrow. But I want to do that without forgetting Eve. Eve was and is a part of me, and Eve’s death, tragically, is also a part of me. I don’t know what that means yet. But it has to include moving on. Somehow.

My head is a mess and I don’t know how to do it. To do THIS. The thought that I find helpful, or at least that helps push me to be strong, is the strength of her parents, of Andrew, of Tim. If they can do it, I can do it.

I just have to figure out how