It's okay to feel your feelings...

I hate January 29th. I hate the day before January 29th and I hate the day after.

At 9:13pm on January 29th I looked up how to deal with the death of a friend.

"Coping with loss. 1.Surround yourself with a circle of support."

That's where I stopped. I knew then that I couldn't cope. I didn't have a circle of support.

I have a mom whose phone call is breaking up. I have a roommate who is ignoring me. That's it.

I am going to have to "cope" by myself

I am not going to lie to you, right now I am sitting atop my dorm bed, typing these blurry letters, listening to my mother cry on the other end of the call and it breaks my heart, listening to my roommate below me laughing with her friends, and it breaks my heart, remembering all the life that Charlie had left to live, and it breaks my heart, listening to the friday night parties going on above and below me, and it breaks my heart.

It breaks my heart that I am not the only one hurting. It breaks my heart that people can smile and laugh in the face of my hurting. It breaks my heart that Charlie was hurting all alone. It breaks my heart that life goes on for everyone else and they're not hurting.

Two years ago, tomorrow, was the day the world lost Charlie. I didn't know how much he meant to me until he wasn't there. He was... everything. I can't ever do justice to Charlie. He was the smartest, kindest, funniest, most surprising person you would have ever met in your entire life. Evidence: would-be valedictorian, hospital volunteer, class clown, and flew airplanes. And you couldn't do anything but love Charlie. Would-be.

He died in a car wreck two years ago. January 29th. Was it an accident? Was it a suicide? I don't know. I have heard so many things and I don't know what to think at all. I guess it doesn't matter because he was dead on the scene anyway. He was gone. When he left he took all the color with him. The world was bleak and gray. The darkest days I've ever seen.

I wrote this the very same day.

Charlie

I remember the cramp of my hand as I struggled to finish whatever assignment I was trying to complete in second period. I was completely oblivious to the messages that kept pummeling my phone. As the bell rang I stood up with pride having finished the assignment on time. I jammed all my things into my backpack and checked my phone while I rushed through the doorway.

“a girl just found out that charlie brennan hit a tree and died this morning…”

Her heart freezes. Her frozen heart is a weight that drags down each and every piece inside of her like a sinking ship taking one shrieking passenger after another. Finally the sinking ship bursts and the heart shatters, the throbbing organ is finally penetrating through the frozen covering. Now that frozen ticker hits a note higher and higher than the last, flipping over itself. The shreds of what once was a ship is left tossing and turning in a vast sea of consternation. It is pummeling its way out of her chest. It’s twisting itself around until finally it can’t move anymore; it is stuck. The dust settles at the bottom of the Atlantic and all that is left is a captain without a ship.

Nevertheless, she goes on. She walks through the doorway seeing all the same faces she sees everyday walking out of class. They all looked the same as usual: bored, excited, tired, anxious, angry, confused. But they don’t look the same to her. They are all here, alive: Something she has never considered. They are all floating peacefully about with no clue of the impending storm soon to arrive.

I didn’t know what to think. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to react. I didn’t know if I should react. I didn’t know if it was real. I didn’t know. I did keep walking. I kept walking to my next class. ‘Is this real? Am I in a nightmare? Is this some kind of dirty joke?’ I thought it best to put the thoughts aside as they would make me have to think and thinking would mean that it was real.

Thinking would mean that it’s real and if it was real then she was missing both the captain and the ship.

She looked back at all the new messages on her phone not believing any of it. ‘It’s all just a dirty, blown-up rumor.’

She walked into the same third period like she did everyday, this day a little more pungent than the last. The stench of the pigs floated in the humid air. She walked to the back of the class not knowing what she should be doing.

I took the long way around to my desk, sat down, then I did nothing. I sat staring towards the front of the bright, humid room wondering if it was all real or I really was in some twisted imagination. Then he came up and sat down next to me. Tristen set his bag down, immediately noticed a shift in my demeanor, and asked if I was okay. But I didn’t know if I was or not. So, naturally I said, of course I’m okay, are you? -- Am I?

She really didn’t know what to say so she grabbed a yellow, square piece of scrap paper from off the desk and stole his stubby wooden pencil to write that a kid in their calc class died this morning.

The moment she wrote it and saw his cheery face drop, she regretted it. His ship just hit an iceberg. She didn’t know what to do. Grab a raft.

“Everyone, you all now have time to work on your pig dissection, get to work.” So without a word I left the table, crumpling up the paper, following Tristen to the dissection table and put on my gloves.

I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t really want to either, because then it might be real. Dead pig. Not a dead boy. Dead pig. Then the announcement came on the school intercom.

It’s not real. Dead pig. It’s not real. Dead pig. It’s not real. Dead pig.

She kept telling herself this to keep from crying. If she cried, it would be real. Dead pig.

She went through the day not knowing what she should be doing. Crying? Working? Leaving? Eating? Smiling? She did what she knew to do: walk. -- Row. Paddle. Swim. Just don’t sink.

She walked into her fifth period of the day not really sure what would happen. She saw the announcement on the board.

Posted by Ed at 7:30 AM. 2 minutes before he crashed. She wiped away the tears that were starting to form and sat down, unthinking. Lifejacket.

I sat down, still able to hold it together surprisingly. I was just barely starting to understand and so just barely holding it together. Dead pig? I was scared to show my emotions. If I showed them, it would be real and I would be a baby, I would sink. Keeping my hand steady as possible and my emotions as contained as possible, I opened a new document. If I worked then I wouldn’t have to think. If she worked then she wouldn’t have to drown. Dead pig?

It turns out that I couldn’t think anyways. My mind said one thing over and over again (The waves kept battering her ship) and it has continued to cross my mind until even now: ‘It should have been me. She was supposed to be the dead pig. I drove past that exact same tree not 30 minutes before him. I had nearly all the same classes as him, but he deserved more. Why am I allowed to be here and not him. Dead pig. He was going to change the world someday. And who am I? The girl that always scored one point less than him on every test ever. The girl who should have been the one to go. It should have been me. She was a pig. She should have died. That way nobody would have to be sad. Nobody would be sad to lose that pig. He was so great and what am I? I’m the girl that it should have been. Not Charlie. Not a dead pig. A dead boy and a dissection project. He should be here making jokes with the class. I should be dead on the side of the road. She should be the one drowning. Dead pig.

I pull it together. Then Kline hands me the note that said: It's okay to feel your feelings.

And that’s when it comes. The storm has arrived and the rains flood my face. The water rises and crashes. Rises and pounds. Rises and batters. Rises and falls.

She is at curled up at her house now. She crouches into the farthest corner of the room, hiding from the thunder. She can pull out work and not have to think. And not-think is what she does. I draw out my bag, but it stays in place. Her mom and her sister leave for practice. Her dad does taxes. Then her dad does the dishes. For them, it’s seventy-four and clear. And she sits in the same spot for 3 hours trying not to drown watching videos of ships and boats and rafts floating rhythmically on the still water, hoping for some kind of life boat.

It has now been 5 hours. Her mom, dad, and sister are all sleeping. 6 hours. She looks up from her phone. I stop and breath and the clock reads: 9:46pm. More time passes and more waves roll in. I can’t stop thinking about that pig sitting in the little blue tray, wading there hopelessly. Dead pig.

The storm pursues. It comes in waves washing every living thing away. The wind is thrusting her into a corner and it doesn’t let up. The tears start to come out in chokes. She can’t keep from screaming at all the pain she has been holding back her entire life. She chokes and holds down another storm and sobs keep coming. She whimpers to herself, ‘He was the most amazing human being ever. And what am I? Nothing compared to him. It should have been me. He was going to change the world. And who am I? The girl that should have been the one to die that very same place less than 30 minutes before. Why am I here and he isn’t?’ Dead pig.

Then her mom came out and saw her curled up into a ball in the same spot she last saw her, choking back an ocean of sobs.

Mom sat there with me for hours until I could regain any composure. She didn’t say anything, she just sat there, holding me tight in her arms.

Then we talked about him. She asked me what he was like. What did I like most about him? Was he kind? Smart? Funny?

So I told her everything I knew. I told her that he was the funniest kid in calculus. He always had an opinion on everything. He had a million dollar smile. He cared about everyone he knew. He was a genius that built his own computer and was going to change the world someday. I told her everything. I told her how he had the best stories. I told her how his hand was always the first one up. I told her how kind he was. I told her everything.

Later that same night as I was heading to bed I remembered something he wrote me in the sixth grade.

I found our class picture with it and I couldn’t hold it back anymore. It was real now. His bright blue Nike shirt screaming at you, calling for you. And there she was. The living pig just 2 ships over watching it all go down.

Finally, the storm calms and all that is left is one life, one oar, a sunken ship, finally resting, and the most amazing sunrise the earth has never seen.

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I know that none of this is coherent. I know that as a reader you have no idea what I am talking about and that every thought is all jumbled up into a mess of words and sentences. But that's okay because this isn't for you. It's for me. To heal. I don't know what to do, what to think, but I'm trying to make my way through this maze, blind, and writing about it is all I can think to do. I am trying to heal from a loss. I am trying to heal from suicidal thoughts. I'm trying to heal from going through being in a pandemic. I am trying to heal from being so far from home. I don't know what I am trying to do. Just putting words on a screen, hoping that I won't start sobbing again.

There is no ending here. Charlie is gone and I am still here. He was so good and will forever be missed, especially by me, whatever that counts for.

...

I want to make an amend to my earlier statements: I have my friends. They went through it just like I did. I called them and talked and cried and laughed and healed just a little bit. I have my family and friends who love me and whom I love. Whatever I am going through, I guess I will always have that circle of support. It's hard to remember sometimes, but I do. I love them. I love Charlie. And I miss both.

The day after he passed, the sky was like you've never seen before. The clouds were the color of a burning orange and you could just feel that Charlie was there... cheering you on.