Grieving A Lost Friend

On my first day at the university, I made a friend who greatly impacted my life. Sadly, not long after our youth service, she died in a fire accident. I remember her often. So, when I did a free-writing exercise and was asked to write to a friend. I wrote to one person I wanted to talk to the most, Gwen. Here we go.

Dear Gwen,

No pun intended but I have been dying to tell you how we have all changed, have marriages, have kids, have lives that no longer intersect at ‘Tantalisers for meals’ or ‘Chapel for everything else’ We do bridal showers now, baby showers and weddings. It takes a long time but when we meet, the time hasn’t passed at all. We talk like we just walked out of Alao or Enwefah’s class, remembering the jokes that made it worthwhile. We’re all boxed into this new reality that is adulthood, and we swear came unprepared- all of us. No one made it clear that it could be this trying, this challenging, this grown- You’d be loving it though, and if you were here, I could never make you an adult if I tried.  You were always your own person, never really let down by anything. I remember how you loved chocolates, how they made you a little hyper.  You once challenged me to name a bar of chocolate you had not tried, I had to google to keep up. The first time I walked into your room, looking to borrow notes from the 100-level mass comm student that stays in 2D, you gave me your 5-in-1 notes. In our 3^rd year, you would tell me it’s because I had an unforgettable face.

It’s funny how time keeps moving. You have the unforgettable face now, but there is no tick for you though, no second-hand shifting us to the future, no clock. Just memories. These days I cut my fingernails, there’s no use for keeping something that causes too much pain, like the memory of your birthdays, I try to forget. Today I’m listening to a person I find suspect, teach me about reconnecting through poetry—the best part of me. As I said, we have well changed, but I remember everything. My mind still weeps for the days you needed more, and I was on a stage somewhere performing while your heart was gently slowing.

I’m doing my best not to carry this guilt any longer, so I’ve written you this letter to post later online somewhere, to remind myself you’re missed, but I won’t be mailing it, there’s no envelope for grief like this.