Tae Kwon Do Chick

I want to share an essay that I wrote in September.  It was both easy and hard to write, because it was so emotional for me.  It still is.

Tears of Loss

Every day is hard in remembering Blake. Sometimes I try not to, but that’s harder. To forget the hardships would be to forget his bravery, kindness, compassion, strength, and purity of heart. So I remember him, even though it usually results in tears. Many things make me think of him: talking to his sister, my best friend; playing chess; listening to his favorite bands; going to the park, where we would hang out; most of all the word ‘cancer’. Losing one of my closest friends has been more painful than I imagined anything could be.

While I’m glad that he isn’t suffering anymore I wish he were still here. I miss his bright, pointy-toothed smile, his witty comments that made us all grin, and the laughter that always shone in his brown eyes. All the time I say to my friends, “I miss you.” Yet compared to how much I miss Blake it is miniscule.

Just over a year before he died he had been diagnosed with Ewing’s Sarcoma- a rare type of bone cancer. He was fourteen at the time. Over that year, Blake received treatment after treatment. He would get better, then worse, then better again. The cycle continued, and overall his health declined. Eventually they ran out of treatments to try. I didn’t see him very often, and later on his family would avoid our inquiries about him. That alone told me that he was doing badly.

The day he passed away was worse than I had imagined a day could be. It started out like a normal day. I lay in bed, dreaming my usual dreams. After a while I stirred, stretched, and reached for my phone. I always check my messages the first thing in the morning. This morning I had only one. I opened it, and dread filled me. My stomach roiled and my tongue felt thick with fear. It was a message from CaringBridge.org, a website that helps people with health challenges stay connected to their acquaintances. The message said that there was a new entry in Blake’s journal. I didn’t want to, but I logged onto the web site. I felt my heart beat fast and hard under my ribs. No news meant good news. Or at least it meant that there wasn’t any really bad news. I scrolled down the page and read. One time was enough. I couldn’t remember the words, but their meaning was clear. Blake was gone.

I stood for a few minutes. I felt empty, a mere shell of myself. My mind was blank and my body trembled. Then it passed and I crumpled to my bed, weeping. My chest felt tight. I needed more air, but couldn’t stop sobbing. Cold tears ran across my face, into my hair, my ears, my pillow. My mind was still working somewhere, though the thoughts it produced were distant. I was surprised that I was crying; I’d always assumed that I would be too sad for even that. I don’t know how long I lay there. Eventually I managed to stop sobbing, though tears still dripped from my eyes. I wiped them and my nose off roughly with the bottom of my worn shirt. I tried to compose myself, somehow knowing that I was the first person in my family to learn of his death. I would have to tell them. I took a deep breath and opened my bedroom door.

As soon as I entered the living room my brother began jabbering about his newest video game. For a few moments I listened, then it became too much. What did such things matter when Blake was dead? “Matt,” I said in a strangled sob. “I don’t care!” As he stared at me in stunned silence I leaned my forehead against the cool glass of the window, trying to keep the tears from spilling out of my eyes. Failing at that, I turned away and walked up the stairs to my parents’ room. “What’s wrong?” my mom asked concernedly from her bed. My answer came out as a mangled, thick wail. “Bl-Blake!” I curled onto her bed, the sobs once again shaking my body. My mom put her arms around me, cuddling me like when I was little. I felt and heard her crying beside me. The black of her hair and the brown of mine tangled together atop the denim duvet. I stared blankly at the spot where the blue of the walls met the white of the ceiling. I felt lightheaded; my face began to tingle unpleasantly. I tried to breathe deeply and evenly, knowing that all my sobbing had brought on an asthma attack; the first in a long time. Eventually I began to feel better. Still I stayed there, in my mom’s arms. My little sister peered in at one point, but quickly retreated. The distant part of me reflected upon how odd she must think the scene. Most of me didn’t care. Mom could tell her, when the initial pain had passed.

Tears continued to seep out of me throughout the day. I ate lunch, not caring what it was. On the other side of the room my mom was telling my siblings the news. I blocked it out easily, not wanting to hear what she said. I quickly pulled on my shoes, then grabbed my phone and keys. “I’m going for a bike ride,” I said before rushing out the door. I needed to be alone. I knew I must look like a juvenile delinquent; it was a weekday, when I should have been in school. I hardly cared. No one would see me on the bike trails so I wasn’t worried. I pedaled along, alternating between muscles burning from exertion and barely moving. The sun shone through the leaves overhead, turning them a brighter shade of green, and dotted the trail around me. Birds twittered and called in the branches and bushes. Some of the calmness entered me, but I wanted to scream. I opened my mouth to do so, but nothing came out. My eyes were dry now. I rode through town and into the woods on the other side. When I reached the point where trees and meadow met I stopped. Before turning back toward home I stared at the cloudless blue sky and said a prayer, the words to which I don’t recall. I rode back home slowly, managing to enjoy the sunshine and nature. I was calmer now, but a sorrow filled my core.

At some point late in the morning Savannah, Blake’s sister, texted me to tell me what I already knew. We had been best friends for five years, but her message was so impersonal it could have come from a complete stranger. My reply felt the same way; all I could think to say was, “Thank you for letting me know.” Later in the day we messaged a few more times. “How are you holding up?” I asked. “Better than I expected,” she told me. I felt slightly comforted knowing that she was coping.

The afternoon passed slowly. I spent some time reading and some drawing. My emotions were too sore to write in my journal like I usually do when I’m upset. Through it all tears rolled from my eyes. I looked forward to dance class, as much as it didn’t seem right to. That evening I walked into the studio, wanting to tell the other girls what had happened. Then I saw them, so cheerful, and knew that they wouldn’t understand. They didn’t know Blake. They didn’t know how close he was to me, how hard the last year had been, or how I ached inside from knowing that I would never see him again. Before class I silently listened to their conversations, smiling faintly or nodding when necessary. When I was dancing I managed to forget what had happened. I reveled in the movement, though showing emotions that I didn’t feel was hard. A musical theater piece sounded in my ears. My skin, damp with salty sweat, covered tight muscles that propelled me across the floor and into the air. Then the music would stop and I would remember. The smallest corrections had me nearly in tears. If anyone noticed, they didn’t say anything. When class was over I quietly gathered my things. If someone called a good bye I would reply, but said nothing else. I felt empty as I climbed into my car.

The emptiness continued the next day, broken with tears. At first it had seemed impossible that life could go on, and I hardly wanted it to. Yet four months later I’m still continuing on this journey, the pain slowly fading. Some days since then have even felt normal. Yet sometimes I forget that he isn’t here anymore; sometimes Blake is all I can think about; sometimes I lie awake all night crying, wishing I’d been a better friend, wanting him back; sometimes I can remember him with no threat of tears, though a sadness pervades my smile and fills my eyes. The day he died I realized that I would never see him again. That concept is something that is still settling in. My memories of Blake keep him near to me, but I will always miss him.