When he first died, I could barely even talk about it. I thought about it all the time but kept it all wrapped up inside. A few weeks later when I flew to Portland for the memorial I bought a new journal so I could write it all down. It was the reason I was going all that way, to mourn the loss of my friend, to make it more than an abstract idea. But I couldn’t do it. I didn’t touch pen to paper once. The grief was still too tight inside me.
Never before have I wanted so desperately to believe in life after death, in the concept of an everlasting soul, in the idea of angels and spirits and all that stuff I know deep down is bullshit. But in the days after I heard the news, when I wanted to talk to him so badly it tore my heart in two, I wished I could believe it all.
This has always been my favourite photo of him. Firstly because of the basic reason it reminds me of that day. We went to Multnomah Falls. We talked. We squished a penny. But it also encapsulates our entire relationship. I see the way he looked at me. We liked each other. A lot. But I also see the crossed arms, the reserve, the way neither of us could jump in with both feet. He broke my heart a couple of times when he was alive but the worst one was when he took his own life.