On the Anniversary of Unexpected Death (or, Grief Complicated)

For Mike

The world has spun for a whole year 

without you. It’s relentless, the way life keeps going on and on 

and on, not stopping for a breath, a death, a good cry, 

a moment of reflection, a goodbye before

it is too late. And on this day – one year later – I remember the way you laughed,

the carefree joyous days, the awkward moments when you didn’t know how to talk 

about your feelings, the times you helped, the times you hurt 

me, the times I hurt you, and the times we tried to talk it through. And as

my head spins with the compounded grief of a complicated friendship, as perhaps 

all friendships are in some way or another, I realize that my heart also spins with 

the dizzying, nauseating truth that I ran out time to say 

what mattered most of all. I ran out of time to discover 

that water is best left under the bridge, that the sum of a relationship like ours is 

more than a handful of moments, one crisis, a few painful mistakes 

and misspoken words.  This year of grieving has taught me that a relationship like ours 

is a priceless, irreplaceable tapestry of complicated, fragile hearts, woven tightly

together in spite of a fraying world, knit by the surprising power of love that makes life 

worth living. Today, 

as this world keeps spinning on and on and on, I wish I could rewind time and stop

everything to make sure you know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you matter 

to me. That you are my friend.  And, most of all, with all we’ve been through together,

despite what you always feared, that I haven’t stopped 

loving you.