Life After Death.

Megan and DMX on their first date.

On November 14th I received a message that brought my world to a screeching halt. The sister of one of my high school best friends wrote to notify me that she had passed away quite unexpectedly. 

My friend Megan is gone. I suppose the world didn't stop after all, but I certainly did. The world kept going whether I was capable of following suit or not. It tends to do that. Each day I had the same responsibilities and obligations as usual - and all I could do was try my best to keep them. In retrospect, I was going through the motions underwater. Floating. Sinking. Grasping. Like the dreams where you try to sprint away from danger, but you're running through molasses. Somehow outside the laws of gravity. Having intensely awkward social interactions with those around me - most likely appearing to be stupid and crazy. That's what pain does. 

“Pain is strange. A cat killing a bird, a car accident, a fire.... Pain arrives, BANG, and there it is, it sits on you. It's real. And to anybody watching, you look foolish. Like you've suddenly become an idiot. There's no cure for it unless you know somebody who understands how you feel, and knows how to help." - Bukowski 

The last time I saw her was Thanksgiving three years ago. It was the worst trip back home that I have ever had, but she was my savior. She was regularly the silver lining of any trip to Kansas, always driving over three hours from Lawrence to come see me and get into just the right amount of Midwest trouble together. Despite the circumstances, our last weekend together was a great one. We spent hours in thrift stores - she bought me a little boy's polo shirt and a pink, vintage brooch (fortunately, I still have both). We went to seedy, dark bars and chain smoked Camel Reds (inside, because it's the Midwest and whatnot). I hadn't even smoked in over 5 years - yet, somehow, I always picked it right back up when we were together and quit as soon as I boarded the plane back home. We ran into acquaintances from high school at one bar and ended up going back to one of their houses after the bar had closed to play cards. When the homeowner fell asleep, Megs and I hid all of his throw pillows and shoes in random places around the house before we left to go tiptoe back into her parent's home. She was my ultimate partner in crime. Never causing any real "trouble", but quite a bit of mischief. 

While flying back home for her funeral, I listened to the song "Hallelujah" as sang by Jeff Buckley. WHY I do these things to myself, listening to incredibly sad songs when I'm already heartbroken, I will never know. But my soul smiled as he sang the lines: 

"Her beauty in the moonlight overthrew you

She tied you to a kitchen chair
She broke your throne, and she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah"

When I was home in March of 2007 Megan came down to see me, as usual. She laid sheets down in her parents kitchen and cut my hair for me. Her parents sat with us and we shared stories and beer (well, we all shared stories, they supplied the beer) as she cut inches of hair off into one of my best post-break-up 'dos. She brightened my life and helped heal my heart. Ironically, "Hallelujah" ended up being played at her funeral. 

She was such a shining presence wherever she went - no one can deny that. Definitely a lighthouse in my darkness. Her sweet personality, style, and talent in high school transformed into a beautiful, tattooed (seriously covered in some of my favorite tattoos - Kansas state seal and John Wayne, just to name a couple) woman with fantastic hair and clothes in adulthood. With each passing year, she seemed to become more wonderful, creative, and fun than the last time I saw her.

I think few people have the blessing/curse of knowing when their last encounter with someone will be. I certainly had no idea that our days together were numbered in such a way. I wish I had tried harder this last year to be a better friend. To force a weekend with one another. To call despite my intense hatred of talking to people on the phone. She was living close enough for me to drive and see her and I didn't put enough effort forth to make that happen. I don't think I am ready to process those thoughts. Maybe another time.

We have so many great memories, and I feel compelled to tell them all to the world - but that would take a good amount of time and I'm sure most people, while kind and sensitive to the situation, have little desire to hear every single one. 

So, here I am, three weeks later - finally making my way through these emotions and putting them into (poorly written) words. Megan was one of the best friends I have ever had. There through it all. One of the few people who knew everything about me, my mistakes and fears, and loved me regardless. And I loved her very, very much. And my world will not be the same without her. I know how lucky I am, though. I'll always feel as if I won the friendship lottery to have known her.