Today, four years ago, I lost my best friend. I lost her on the night of her wedding day. Just half a day earlier, I had stood by her side as she said "I do." Four days later, they held her funeral in the same church where she was married. It was so surreal. I remember, I sat next to my husband. We weren't even dating then, but I remember. Yes, he was the one who was there for me through it all. He sat next to me, and I remember putting my arm through his to steady myself.
I was living a nightmare. Numbness and disbelief overcame me, so that even when I went to view her body, I didn't cry. My mother cried, but I didn't. I couldn't. How can you cry about something that you don't believe is real?
How could my best friend die the night she was married? How could she slip underneath the water in her tub? Why didn't the police know CPR? Why did they make her husband, who did know CPR, leave the room? Why did they let her just lay there?
By the time she arrived at the hospital, she hadn't breathed in 10 minutes. Because of some weight-loss drug, her heart was too weak to be revived.
They tried to revive her all night. I was there...sitting 10 feet away from her. I could hear them shuffling in and out, using all the shots of adrenaline that they could. The machines beeping, the doctor's conversations hurried and passionate at first, then exhausted mumbling as hours ticked by. But they never got her stable enough to life-flight her to Amarillo. Why?
I got to see her after that. Looking at her hair that was curly...she hadn't had the chance to straighten it. She would have flipped out if she saw herself in that casket. Her makeup and hair were always immaculate, but not then, and nevermore.
When they wheeled her casket out of the church, that's when it hit me. I started wailing. "Wait! Wait!" My mom caught me. "I'LL NEVER GET TO SEE HER AGAIN!"
Four years ago. I thought I was over this. But I'm not. This year is the hardest yet. Maybe it's because I know she wouldn't call me crazy or psycho. She would see what I've become, the mess of me. She would understand. She would sit me down and criticize me, lovingly, for never straightening my hair. She would then do it for me, and somehow make me look like a model. Then she would say, "I hate what that asshole did to you. You don't deserve that. Screw him. We'll kick his ass."
It angered her to know that I had been raped. I don't remember her being so mad as she was then. "Kaylea, I'm so sorry. I can't believe this happened to you. NOT YOU. You were always the innocent one." She cried. I sat in the dorm hallway, and I talked to her for hours. Life changed for both of us. It brought us back together again, just to tear us apart. That's how it goes. Sometimes there's just no answer. There's no meaning. How can I understand? I just can't. I have to keep going, because time doesn't stop. It won't ever stop.