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Life, Death, and My Best Friend's Sweet 16

When something bad happens to someone, one of two things happen. They can become obsessed with the disaster, dwell on it constantly and use it as a shield to hide behind. Or, they can move on, trying to pretend it didn't happen. They try to achieve the elusive ideal of "normal", a concept so ridicolous it should almost be discredited. There is no such thing as normal.

Neither of these options are correct, but in the end they're all life has to offer us. We can hide behind the awful, the unthinkable. We come to terms with the unbelievable truth everyday, the facts of what has happened haunting us. Or we can ignore it. Try to erase what has happened from our minds. We hide behind our laughter, our jokes, and our shrugged shoulders. We never let the pain inside of us see the light of day. If we don't think about it, will it go away?

There is no good and evil in these two methods of mourning. One isn't right, nor is it wrong. It's just human nature. If two people incarnate these two different personalities, one is not more heartbroken than the other. And in the end, no matter how different they act, that's what they have in common. They are both heartbroken. And that is enough to link them forever,

There is nothing worth than the death of a loved one. A brother, a sister, a child, a best friend, a soulmate, a first kiss, or even someone who just made you smile when you felt like crying, the loss of them is something you will never truly "get over".  Someone you could have never imagined living without, someone you never thought you would be living without. But then the news comes, the horrible, terrifying news you could never possible hope to comprehend, to accept. It reaches you, whether through a phone call, an instant message, a whisper down the hall, a police siren down your road, or a rumor spread at a football game. You understand the seriousness of what you hear, but you refuse to believe it. You call the messenger a liar, or you underestimate what you're hearing. But then, slowly, you accept it. And you know you have to tell as many as people as possible what happened. You, in turn, are called a liar, yelled at, "That's not funny."

You sit there as they accept it. You listen to people cry, protest, while you struggle to feel everythign and nothing at the same time. You visit the hospital, overwhelmed by how surreal everything is. There is a battle raging in the waiting room, between hope and despair, optimism and the truth. People around you constantly make the sign of the cross, prayer circles fill the atrium, and you wonder when you're wake up.

"This many prayers can't go unanswered." I remember saying that, but I can't remember if I believed it.

You scoff at the hopeless, the down-to-earth, or maybe just those who have a firm grasp of reality. They feel sorry for you, but deep down inside you know that they're the one you should feel sorry for. They have forgotten what is is to dream, to wish, to hope. Their glass is half empty now and forever.

Then comes the news that they are right. It's over. You're filled with anger, rage, sadness, and an all around emptiness in your heart. You brain echoes with questions, so many questions. "How could this happen...to her? Of all the people in the world, why the one who deserves it least?"

Time passes, sometimes so fast you don't know what happened, and sometimes so slow you wish it would just end.You don't tell alot of people who didn't know her what happened. How could they understand? How could they POSSIBLY understand? Memories become so important. You cherish each one, struggling every night to remember as much as possible. You can't dwell on her death, you have to remember her alive. It's hard though, and sleep becomes harder and harder to achieve. You struggle to hide the emotions you're feeling, but every now and then you snap. Still, it is more important to remember the happy times.

Stephanie was one of my oldest and best friends. She has a way of finding the joy and humor in things that would have hurt anyone else. We joked about how she was "voted off the island" in girlscouts (we voted her out of the troup). We took way too much pleasure in childish games, IE- Pokemon cards. We never actually fought, and she even joked once "Yeah, i got mad at you once, but the next day I was like nooo." We quoted Adam Sandler like there was no tomorrow. "Noooo there all going to laugh at you!" So much so it caught on in the family. She reported back to me with joy "Yeah my mom does it to now! 'Mom, pass the carrot.' 'Noooooooooo....'"

She was an amazing dancer, even before she got formal training. She'd show me her dance stretch, doubling her body over. In 7th grade we'd marvel at her disjointed fingers, while the teachers wondered what we were doing. Steph was my go-to girl. I sat next to her in half my class during junior high. In my freshmen year I printed the picture on Steph and I out and pasted it to my About Me poster for Spanish. "My Mejor Amiga es Stephanie." My best friend is Stephanie.

We did the craziest things together ever (field hockey goals, anyone?) were in love with my plumber, and had way to much fun at a pizza place. "Dear God, please let a hot guy walk in." *gorgeous man walks in, Stephanie makes sign of the cross and looks upwards* "Thank you!" Later, we threw a slice of pizza into the street, and were entralled with the fact that it was still there, days later.

We'd talk about boys, lying on her trampoline, joking that they could hear us. We went to theme parks and she helped me to love roller coasters and new foods. We talked to our camp counselor (Paul the Mortician) and learned more than we ever needed to know about autopsies. She taught me about bacteria on my eye and other random facts which I dubbed "The Steph Random Fact of the Day." We went to theater camp together and wrote a great scene about what else? apple pie.

We'd goto the pool club, or just sat around her house while I ate peanut butter from the jar. She'd come over and we'd feed my dog chinese noodles for hours, amazed at the reaction we got out of him (don't ask).

I'll never find someone quite like Stephanie. Someone I could just call for no reason and talk to for hours. Someone I could make catcalls at the Patriots with. The girl who dubbed the a tree full of loud birds an official mating ground for them. Sometimes, I guess I forget these things, try as might not to. Sometimes it become "A 15 year old girl dead, how sad." as it is for people who didn't know her. But most times I know that a part of me has moved on to another world, a part of me has died with her, just as a part of her lives on within me and everyone I know. I struggle to live like she would want me to, enjoy every moment of everyday.

And maybe I don't show it as much as everyone else, maybe I try too hard to be normal, to laugh and shrug my shoulders, but I miss her. Every second of every day, her smiling face is in my thoughts, my dreams, and my late night ponderings. Her presence is there every moment of my life. A weight on my chest, knowing that such a crucial part of my life, someone who helped me become the outgoing silly girl I am today, is gone. Yet, she isn't gone. And I know if she was here, she'd laugh at me for being serious. We have to live as much as Steph would of, and folks, we have alot of living to do.

So Stephanie, on Monday June 16th, you're be Sweet 16. Your body may not have been on earth for 16 years, but you're spirit is, and will continue to be long after. Your memory will never be forgotten. I won't let it.

To Steph on her 16th birthday, Love Kerrin

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