It's been a few weeks since losing Aimee sucked the wind out of me, and left me feeling like I'd been run over by a semi carrying my heart in its trailer.
And then, just as suddenly as six weeks ago, her death is stinging me again, the wounds reopened and the pain just as fresh. The numbness is coming over me again. And yet, it is numbness that is tempered with anger and sadness and melancholy and that sensation of "hey, we just got screwed RIGHT in the ass, didn't we?" Or maybe it's all those things that are tempered by the numbness.
No significant event today, no big revelation, it's just a Tuesday. The sixth Tuesday, by the way, since she died. Six Tuesdays now, with who knows how many more to come, that I get to, every week, relive that awful phone call. A phone call that has been given a visual reminder in my memory by the unfortunate coincidence that I was standing in front of my vanity mirror when Nik told me that she was gone. So every Tuesday I see myself, in my orange v-neck shirt and jeans, hair done, makeup suddenly running; I see me, screaming. Screaming at myself in the mirror and Nik in the phone as he choked on his tears and told me my life would never be the same in two simple words: "...Aimee died..."
I miss her.
I miss you, Aimee. I miss our lazy day chats on the phone, our laughs that went on so long that they made us cry, and everything else that I loved about who we were as friends. The tears flowed easily today, and painfully, and you are still worth every one.