March 25
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 

Today is the anniversary of the day Tina died.  I'd done a lot of writing about her in the past, as a way to get past my grief, and I guess it worked, because I don't find myself needing to tell her story as often as I used to.  I know that I've gotten a lot of new readers over the years, and some of you may not know the story, and I don't really want to go into it in all of the awful detail, but I will give you a rundown, and if you're really interested, write me, and I'll point you at the links in my archives of where I've written about her in the past.

Tina was my sister in law.  She was, without question, the first person in Nick's family to make me feel really welcome.  That was her knack and her way.  She was kind and good, a far more generous a person than I, someone who went out of her way to make people feel at ease.  She and I spent hours together, drinking boxwine on her porch, listening to music and talking.  She taught me a lot about being in a family and appreciating what you have and loving your friends dearly, and I did love her dearly.  She was my best friend.

Tina died a week after giving birth to Noah, who is 4 now, unbelievably.  Pregnancy induced hypertension put strain on an aneurysm no one knew about, and on her way to a post-partum checkup, she complained of a horrible headache to the person she was with, and slumped over.  That was it.   That was the end of Tina as we all knew her.

I had a lot of trouble coming to terms with what had happened.  I mean, how often does someone's best friend suffer a catastrophic brain bleed and die after 6 horrible months in a coma?

Right after it happened, I dreamed of her all the time.  Never dreams of how things were, never dreams where everything was okay again.  Always, she was there, but things weren't right-they were always after.

I suspect that if you went back looking for these entries I'd written, they'd sound almost exactly how I sound now, because really, nothing has changed.  Someone I loved died.  There's 4 years between then and now, and perhaps I don't think of her quite as often, but I say that and mean there's a difference between 100 times a day and a few times, you know? The profound sorrow I felt, I've found a place for it.  It's livable now.  It doesn't crush me the way it did.  I don't find myself--as often--wondering what could have been if only.

Tina's death put the fear of death into me.  It put the seed of of something sudden and uncontrollable and horrible happening in my soul.  That, too, has quieted.  I've made as much peace with it as I will ever.  Liken it to 9/11, if you will.  Something horrible.  Something so unspeakably horrible you are sure it'll never go away and you'll never be able to take a breath without feeling the catch of tears in your throat.  Eventually, it does.  It will.  On a global level or a personal level, it mellows out, and I've been able to put in all in a dealable place.  Mostly.

So, on the four year anniversary of my best friend's death, I am able to say that I am a better person for having known her, and I dont know that I'll ever again meet someone so purely, honestly nice, someone who was without guise or anger, but I hope I do.
 
 

May everyone live,                                                                                           And may everyone die.                                                                                                           Hello, my love,                                                                                                       And my love,
Goodbye.
 
 

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