Somebody on Facebook Died
She went to my middle school, and I really wanted to comment something.
I know you don’t remember me, and your sister wasn’t my friend, but I saw her every day. We existed together at the same time, and I’m sad. I’m sorry.
It doesn’t feel like my right to be sad, because I can’t remember how I felt about her. But in middle school, everybody and everything matters. So she mattered to me.
I am reading through all these comments, most by people who knew her way better than I ever did. People who had a part of her, but they all say the same thing. That’s also sad, because I think we need to be more than “praying for you,” or “so sorry for your loss” if there is a girl who lived a life.
I don’t think I can reinvent the wheel of grief, but I also can’t say stuff I don’t mean. Where does that leave us?
It’s close to midnight in Bushwick. A girl on the train is smiling at her phone, a text - but where the fuck is this person? If they’re making her smile so much. She’s alone, to me. And I walk by a dog, neatly tied to a pole. He’s so scared, because his owner is inside the corner store. But he doesn’t know that! His owner has abandoned him. These moments for him are excruciating. I stand like an idiot watching a dog tied to a pole, both of us whimpering. It’s all no use. We are alone.
So I guess what I’m trying to say is: I do remember your daughter and your sister and your mother and your friend and your savior and your enemy. I remember these blips and then feel really terrible for realizing they are blips. I’ll be a blip, too. And it won’t be a big event, it’ll just be a small get-together. I’m sure I’ll get the same thoughts and prayers your sister did. I’m sorry this is what happens.
Instead I just, scrolled on by.
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