Memories of N.
i found out that N. died yesterday. she was so ill, so consumed by the diseases which wouldn't let her get help and unable to get out. she was suffering so much. i knew i couldn't help her, and i was so wrapped up in my own family problems that i couldn't face her. i've been thinking about it, and there was another reason too: i couldn't bear to see what she had done to herself, intentionally or not.
my memories of N. are old and vivid-A, J, N and I squeezed into the backseat of a minivan after dinner with our parents, playing some sort of detective game. i remember watching ghostbusters in her basement, and the way that A's bat mitzvah videographer followed her around the party because she was so magnetic. i always felt that N. looked out for me because i was the youngest. over the years, she would come into starbucks, and i would catch up briefly and note how thin she'd gotten but know i couldn't help. she reached out to me and gave me some good advice, and i couldn't reciprocate. i couldn't reciprocate because i knew it was so much bigger than anything i could do, and i would be so distressed that my friend was wasting away; one more trauma and my already fragile self would shatter into a million pieces. and now she's gone.
L wrote a song for her, just as he wrote one for mom, and he just kept repeating about how she was breaking his heart. i cannot imagine how painful this is, and was, for L and C. it's not unexpected, because this was the inevitable ending, but it has completely caught me off-guard. she was only 28. and the disease was so horrible, a mental jailcell that was forever locked. the word i keep coming back to is tragic, tragic for anyone who even briefly knew about the situation.
i'm trying to look at this in a positive light, and see this as N's last bit of looking out for me-she's prepping me for mom's funeral. i have no idea if we'll go to the gravesite, or what we'll do in general besides attend the service and sit shiva. if nothing else, my memories of N will always be happy ones, touched with sadness and a sense of the futility. shalom, N.
my memories of N. are old and vivid-A, J, N and I squeezed into the backseat of a minivan after dinner with our parents, playing some sort of detective game. i remember watching ghostbusters in her basement, and the way that A's bat mitzvah videographer followed her around the party because she was so magnetic. i always felt that N. looked out for me because i was the youngest. over the years, she would come into starbucks, and i would catch up briefly and note how thin she'd gotten but know i couldn't help. she reached out to me and gave me some good advice, and i couldn't reciprocate. i couldn't reciprocate because i knew it was so much bigger than anything i could do, and i would be so distressed that my friend was wasting away; one more trauma and my already fragile self would shatter into a million pieces. and now she's gone.
L wrote a song for her, just as he wrote one for mom, and he just kept repeating about how she was breaking his heart. i cannot imagine how painful this is, and was, for L and C. it's not unexpected, because this was the inevitable ending, but it has completely caught me off-guard. she was only 28. and the disease was so horrible, a mental jailcell that was forever locked. the word i keep coming back to is tragic, tragic for anyone who even briefly knew about the situation.
i'm trying to look at this in a positive light, and see this as N's last bit of looking out for me-she's prepping me for mom's funeral. i have no idea if we'll go to the gravesite, or what we'll do in general besides attend the service and sit shiva. if nothing else, my memories of N will always be happy ones, touched with sadness and a sense of the futility. shalom, N.
posted by j @ 8:14 PM
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