I still remember her long, shiny hair, her short and slender figure. Her big dark eyes, filled with compassion and wisdom. Like a small and magical wood elf princess, she was my light.
I was always amazed at Miss A:s ability to make me see the truth even when I shielded myself from it. If I was stubborn about it, she would never let me off the hook easily, not without a lengthy discussion. Our conversations sometimes resembled therapy sessions, and I remember thinking she should have become a therapist. Always eager to help people with their problems.
It’s now three years since she passed away. She was only 32 years old and I still can’t forgive the universe for it. I can never make sense of why she had to go. Bad things happen to good people, never rang more true.
I knew her for about twenty years, my whole adult life. I remember when we were really young and crazy and went for a “spring swim”. In the ocean. In April. The water was almost ice cold but we jumped in, screaming our lungs out, laughing.
Sometimes we wouldn’t talk for a long time, but we always picked up right where we left off. She always supported me, no matter what. I remember telling her; You give me so much warmth and support, I hope I can one day repay you. These words still give me chills. I never did get to repay her. Not in this life, anyway.
I remember being awe-struck at her incredible strength. It seemed nothing was impossible to her and whatever happened, she always took it in stride. I wondered at this, since life always found ways to beat me down, no matter how much I tried.. To be honest, at 30, I was already exhausted by the seemingly endless stream of challenges, heartaches and complete BS, that Life had already thrown at me.
But of course, I knew she had her troubles too. But she would never let them beat her. Ever. I took inspiration from that. It was the same when she got ill. She refused to give up, no matter the poor odds. She still managed to enjoy the little things in life, everyday. I am sure she was scared many times during the 2 years of her illness. But she never once showed it to me. I am in awe of some people’s strength, like hers. I would have probably been a depressed mess, been lying around on the sofa, refusing to get up, or something. That’s what I think I would have done, anyway.
I remember her ability to live in the now, to always find joy. She loved travelling the world, reading books, watching classic movies, drinking tea in a bohemian style coffee shop, going to see a play, walking in the old parts of town.
While I always had a somewhat hidden sorrow just beneath my strong façade, she was more “whole”. You know, at peace with life. That which I am still looking for, she already possessed. And with that personality, she helped me a great deal, to find my own strength. How she did it, I couldn’t tell you… She had…acceptance? Faith in herself and Life. In other people. Combined with some dry, crazy/ironic sense of humour, she could beat anything. Except Death.
She heard about my (now ex) narcissist, back then, while he and I were in our first year of our “relationship”. She didn’t like him one bit, after what she heard about him, from me. She said he was likely a “fraud”… how right she was!
Miss A. had become a part of me, one of my dearest parts. When she passed away, it was like something inside me broke in two, like a dry twig. After that, even when things turned into a complete nightmare with the narcissist, I just couldn’t end it with him. I could not face two losses of that caliber at once, although I already sensed somewhere deep inside, that while he was my Angel of darkness, she was my true Angel of light.
I can see her still, in my mind’s eye. Her wood elf type of clothes, brown and green, her calm soul, her heartfelt laughter, her empathy and kindness deep as the oceans. Our last time together, in her tiny apartment, watching a movie, talking, even laughing.
I know, miss A, you would want me to be happy and never fall into the dark holes again. I am trying. Sometimes it’s just so damn hard, without you. Wherever you are, I hope you’re at peace. You’re still remembered and loved, please know that.