Losing someone you love will never be easy. Death is one of those things you can never really prepare for and regardless of age, it’s going to hurt. The person I loved most passed at the age of 22 and almost 5 years later, I still feel the same emotions I felt the day I lost her. Thankfully, I can still remember our last moment together and I can still remember the last words we spoke to each other.
Losing a loved one means losing a piece of yourself that you can never get back.
At a very young age, Paula was diagnosed with juvenile diabetes. I watched her drop a ton of weight and struggle to live the “normal” life that all the other kids and young adults seemed to have. Sure, there were nights where we got to go shopping or catch dinner and a movie, but much of my free time consisted of girl chat and all-nighters - from the comfort of many different hospital beds. There are so many places I’d rather be, but the fact that I got to be with her made it worthwhile.
As Paula had been preparing to undergo another surgery, for some reason I’d given her a squeeze longer than I usually did. I gave her a forehead kisses and a couple “I love you’s”. I told her that I would see her when she got out. I can’t even count on both of my hands and toes how many times I’ve said that to her before a surgery. I didn’t realize that this would be our last exchange. After her surgery, she was comatose and I kept thinking to myself “this is it”. I knew the moment would eventually come when she wasn’t here any longer, but I didn’t know when it would actually happen.
In her last moments, our family sat, surrounding her and filling her ears with “I love you’s” and “you can let go if you’re ready's"., with gospel music playing in the background. I could feel the silence and the sadness in the room, but I also felt the joy in the room. Looking around, I could see that everyone was sad, but also happy because Paula was no longer suffering. Although I was surrounded by family, I felt alone in the room. Everyone disappeared, and it was just she and I. I took that time to reflect on my life, and on my moments with her.
Paula and I were very affectionate toward each other, but not to the point where we hugged all on each other - I wish we had. I had so many opportunities to express my love while she could hear me, but in the very short moments before she passed (in her comatose state), I told her how much I loved her and I thanked her for being my friend - a person who tells you what you need to hear versus what you want to hear, a person who loves you unconditionally and in spite of, and a person who encourages you to be kind and to be the best that you can be. Paula made me the best version of myself and I am lucky to have had her in my life.
The thing about pain is that it demands to be felt.
But pain isn’t always terrible. Pain takes its time on you. Pain shapes you into who you’re meant to be, and pain sticks by you in the very late hours of the night. Pain tells you that it’s time to move on and sticks with you until you learn to let go. Pain has been a constant presence in my life since elementary school. There was a time in high school where every weekend was spent at a funeral. So I know about pain. I know about hurt. But my heart has never felt the kind of pain it felt when I lost her.
The hardest part of losing someone isn’t saying goodbye, but learning to live without them. You’ll constantly find yourself trying to fill the void and the emptiness that’s left when they go.
When Paula passed, my life flipped completely. I felt nothing for a very long time. I wasn’t really living, I was just going through the motions and telling myself things would get better. There were times when I couldn’t ever get out of bed or times when the mention of her name would just cause me to be overcome with a giant rush of emotion. I couldn’t look at pictures of her for a very long time. There were times when I was angry because we didn’t get as many laughs, phone conversations, birthdays, memories, pictures, hugs, or time. It’s a month shy of 5 years and I still feel everything I felt the day she left. Mourning the loss of someone you loved causes you to cherish those that you still have.
Losing someone you love means re-reading every single conversation you had and re-viewing all pictures taken together.
Losing someone you love means you’re going to be sad for some time, and probably even mad also. It means that you’re going to lose a part of yourself in losing them, but that you’ll always have a part of them with you.
Losing someone you love means time will pass and you will age and grow, but you won’t forget how their laugh sounds and their smile will be burned into your memory.
Losing someone you love means constant hope for a better afterlife for them.
Losing someone you love means that the pain you’re feeling won’t ever go away, but it will lighten up over time.
Losing someone you love means their death will hit you so hard that it will feel like someone shot a bullet right through me.
Losing someone you love means possibly losing all hope, but then realizing how precious life is. It means seeing the light at the end of the tunnel and deciding not to give up, for them.
Losing someone you love means learning to cherish those still here with you.
Losing someone you love means you will constantly text and call them, hoping they will answer. You know that you’re never going to get a response again, but you will still hope for the possibility.
Losing someone you love means everything you do will remind you of them.
