Friday, October 23, 2009

Who ARE you? For that matter, who am I to ask this?

I am one of the people who randomly stumbled upon your blog. By way of your friend Karie's page. I am also a person who very, very rarely comes onto MySpace, who has formally sworn off social networking, who was supposed to be doing other things tonight. But this isn't really about me.

To continue, I was looking at Karie's comment section (my favorite part of most people's MySpace pages; unless they are writers, then my favorite part might very well be their blogs) and thinking that the quality of the comments there was not like the quality of other comment sections I had read before. I read the most recent comment (from you, possibly, I haven't gone back to check) and then the next most recent and so on. By the time I had gotten to the fourth or fifth comment I realized what I was actually reading. I was reading letters to a friend, a friend who is now gone (as you put it in one of your blogs).

Originally, I thought I might go out later tonight--maybe to join a Halloween hayride event with my mother's side of the family and the kiddiepoos or maybe to a friend's 29th birthday celebration at a comedy club, but upon realizing that your friend had died, I ceased to consider other options for the night. That part of me that considers God and death and existence and nonexistence and nothingness had something more to consider. I wasn't looking for much, wasn't expecting much, didn't deserve anything at all. I mean, who am I? A stranger happening upon the page of a woman who happened to be one heck of a compelling writer, who seemed to feel the same extreme passion for life that I felt, who was witty and risky and unknowable - now more than ever. Really, a woman who is missed. Undoubtedly missed.

Something brought me back to her comment section, back to you as the commenter and your troubles. You had lost her and wrote about this so eloquently. From there, I read your blogs and I cried. Me, a stranger. Me, sober. Me, not you. It was an extraordinary experience. One of those urban legend type stories. The beloved friend, gone but her MySpace page survives. Gone, but her friend survives. I guess what I'm trying to say, is that I hope you are doing more than just surviving. A year is not a very long time to heal from a loss such as yours, but I hope you can still conjure up her face and I hope that you've found some solace in these past 12 months.

Om shanti,