the nineteenth of april, twenty eighteen. The first day. I couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe you were gone. Couldn’t believe that a traffic accident led to such horrible consequences. Couldn’t believe any of it was happening. Couldn’t believe I’d never hear your voice or see your face again. I still can’t. I still don’t know what to do. I don’t know where to go from here. I’m still waiting to wake up from this nightmare.
I often catch myself thinking about you in quiet moments. Thinking of how you laughed and, well, how you loved. I can’t stop thinking about it – thinking about you. You were always there for other people when they needed you, no matter how busy you were. I remember when you were doing your work but one of our friends was stressed and she came over. You dropped everything to talk to her to make sure she was okay. I remember you attempting to listen and do your work at the same time, but when you realised how much she needed you, you put your pen down and turned your chair. And you never turned back. But that was just so you – to put others well before yourself.
I’m going to miss you so much. I’m going to miss your smile, your laugh, your texts and your enthusiasm – and just… you. Everything about you is what I will miss. How you are the first to raise your hand up to volunteer to do something, or how you were always ready to lay down your time to make sure things got done. I’m so sorry I never told you how much that helped and how much that meant to me. I’m so sorry I told you you were doing better at managing your time, but never that you were always good enough even when you weren’t. I’m so sorry that I never told you that I appreciated you for everything that you did for everyone around you. I’m so sorry.
There’s a photograph from the dining hall. It’s one of the last photographs I ever took of you. Ever will get to take of you. A solo shot. And I don’t have one of us. I remember clearly that day you asked me so many times to take a photo with you – I said I would once we went to the MPH – the Dining Hall wasn’t nice enough. I promised you. But we didn’t. We took one with our friends, but we didn’t take any, just the two of us. I’m sorry I didn’t. I’m sorry I didn’t keep my promise. Looking back now, I don’t know why that was – the two of us were just too busy zipping around the MPH to take a photo with each other. I never knew a week later I would never get to again.
You’re right, though. Time is elusive and we can’t decide how much of it we have – only what we do with it. I hope you didn’t regret anything, and I hope you know you lived a life you should be proud of while you were down here with us. You did everything you could for everyone you could – the most beautiful part about this is that it is by no means an exaggeration.
I guess I just wanted to write this to you because I don’t know how else to deal with it. But the day is young, and time is moving along without me. I must go catch the train before I’m left behind. I’ve stopped crying, but do not mistake that for forgetting, Kathy. I will never forget you and all you’ve done. You’ve left an indelible mark on my life. Love you a lot.
To all of you who’ve read this, I just want to say to you: thank you for loving her, and caring for her. Remember that Kathy is not a sad story. She is not a tragedy. She is more than it, and she is more than a sum of the things she did. She is who loved you and cared for you and she is you who is inspired and touched by her.
I’m not religious. But I can believe that for her, there is a Heaven for her to be brought to, and a Father present to welcome her in.
And for you? This pain too shall pass.
I had to wait a few days to post this. I wasn’t ready, and I’m still not entirely sure I am. But I wanted to say this. I wanted to tell you I’m sorry, and I miss you. There are so many things I wish we had gotten to do together. So many conversations we never got to have. So many things I still want to say to you. So many regrets attached to you. I don’t dream of you, but I often wish I would. Just so – even for one torturous, agonizing moment, I could talk to you again.