I’m not entirely sure how to write this, and it will undoubtedly sound self-absorbed, so maybe I shouldn’t. But I have to let something out and this is the place to do it.
Tomorrow is November 4, which makes Sunday November 5. A date which likely means nothing to most of the world. But I meet November 5 with mixed emotions. It was one year ago that I watched helplessly from the sidelines as two of the best friends I have in my life went through unspeakable events. The details aren’t important, let’s just say they were in pain and I could do nothing to make it better.
The past year has brought more tears than I thought I could cry and such a feeling of uselessness. I am a “fixer.” I want things to be perfect for everyone and I will do all I can to make it so. But this… this I couldn’t fix. I watched these women and all I could do was listen to them, hope to find the right words to help and pray. A LOT.
I am praying. I went to the temple for them (even the Catholic one, because I know she would appreciate any gesture of faith). They seem to be doing well – a testament to their strength. Still, I sit by the phone, ready to talk to them if they need it, but afraid to call them for fear of dragging them down when they may have just gotten back up.
So I meet November 5, not knowing what to do. I feel the urge to tell it to fu** off. It’s a horrible day that I don’t want my friends to ever think of again.
I feel the urge to weep uncontrollably, for the pain they went through and the loss they suffered.
I want to scream at the world, “Stop moving! These women need a damn ticker tape parade!” Then I will line everyone up and make them cheer and throw roses.
But strangely enough, I feel the urge to celebrate on this day – getting one of them drunk and singing karaoke with the other – because they have made it through. This to me is bigger than the sadness. They are brilliant and beautiful and amazing. They are more than I ever could be. They will make it to November 6, 2006.