In a few days, it will be ten years since his last living day.
Ten years. That’s one hundred and twenty months. Five hundred and twenty weeks. Three thousand, six hundred and fifty days.
Most years after the first anniversary felt like any normal day. Sure, there was a slight isolating somberness in the air… but as the years go by and the birthdays and anniversaries come up, it becomes second nature. They are sad days, and it’s okay to call them what they are: sad. But I don’t know if it’s quarantine getting to me, the significance the number 10 has, or some other thing I can't put my finger on… this upcoming anniversary has rocked me more than it has in a while.
Recently, someone sent me a link of football highlights from 2009... Shane’s senior year. My former classmate told me there was a chance I could find a clip or two where he was playing. After combing through the videos for about an hour, I found him jumping around and hyping the team, just like he always did. It was only about five seconds of footage, but I couldn't miss that #52 anywhere. But the date of the game and who they played against popped up and the question trickled into my head: Was I at that game? I don’t remember that game.
And then it hit me like a freight train: there are so many things I took for granted that I don’t remember anymore... and there are many things I'll never get the answer to.
I don’t remember how tall he was or what color his eyes were. I don’t remember his voice or what his laugh sounded like. The way his nose wrinkled when he sneezed. How much larger his hands were compared to mine. His favorite jokes or songs. The stories he always told. All the things I loved about him are now distant memories that are falling through my fingertips with each passing day, and no matter how hard I try to contain these things, they always fall away in time.
I don't know what kind of things he would've liked if he were here now. Who his friends would be, if he'd have a family, what job he'd have. If he'd still like the Cowboys, still rave about Jarhead, if he'd make fun of me for watching Dunkirk solely for Harry Styles. I wonder what he'd be like. I wonder if we'd still be friends.
I'll never know. He is frozen in time, forever an 18-year-old boy while I am here... still growing, still learning, letting time guide me until it stops for me, too.
All I have left are a few mementos hidden away in a boot box under my bed. One sweatshirt. A few photos. Two birthday cards. The necklaces we made together. The tag to a Dallas Cowboys hat I bought him for Christmas. And stories. Tons and tons of very specific stories that, though the details can be fuzzy at times, I hold near and dear to my heart and still talk about when given the chance.
Like the time he secretly rewrote an entire church skit so he could be called Bully Frog instead of Bully Bob, only because he thought it was funny.
Or the time we snuck out of a volunteer event to go eat free pie at a demolition derby.
Or the time I got dumped days before prom and he offered to ditch his prom date and go with me instead (I said no).
Or even the time he found out I was assigned defensive center for our girl's football team and he, also a defensive center, spent two months talking to me about football tips every second he could. I wouldn't have taken down those senior offensive linemen so gracefully if it weren't for him.
Though I feel insane holding onto these things sometimes, it's all I have left. No one in my present life had the opportunity to meet him. To get to know him. To experience him the way I did. So in a small way, I feel like I need to so that people know that at one point, this person was alive. He existed. He was my person. I mean, sure... parts of our lives come to an end all the time. Graduating school, leaving your first job, ending a relationship, moving to a new city. These versions of life always end... and the only way they live on is through our memories and stories of times before. No matter how much I deny it or push it away, he will always be a part of me. I only want others to love him and know him at the fraction that I did.
2020... this ten year anniversary, and the year in general, has reminded me that time is quick. It's merciless. There's no replay button, no rewind, no pause. It's nothing more than a continuous, unstoppable, forward force. But that is why, more than ever, it's so important to remember how precious life is. With each passing moment, your clock is ticking down, and whatever you do, you're giving yourself up to some of it. I, by writing this and sharing some rambling thoughts, am giving a part of myself to you. You, reading this, are giving a part of yourself to me... and in a way, you're sharing it with him, too. So thank you... whoever and wherever you are in this present moment.
I know that most of this has basically been a long ramble, but I'll do my best to tie this up and give it as much of a sweet ending as possible. Today, I am okay. Seventeen year old me would probably be shocked at how well I'm doing. But that's the thing about underestimating yourself: most times, you can prove yourself wrong, whether you see it in the moment or not. There is no walkthrough guide for this stuff. Healing takes time. Growth takes time. Do both at your own pace. And if you feel stagnant, if one day you feel the flood waters of sadness and grief have overtaken you, reach your hand out. I promise you... someone will be there to pull you out.
I'll be taking the actual anniversary day to keep myself busy the way I do every year. Make an Eggo waffle breakfast, play some Pokemon games, take a drive to the cemetery if it isn't snowing too hard, and hang up our Christmas ornament. Sure, it's always a sad day... but as is with time, no matter how slow the day feels, tomorrow always comes. A new day begins, which brings a new chance to keep moving forward, just like we always do, whether we realize it or not.
I am so incredibly lucky that I got to spend the time I did with Shane. I'm thankful that I knew the person I did, and nothing will ever change that fact. And though he may not be here, I would not be the person I am today without him.
He'll always be my shining star... it just looks a little different now. And that is very much okay.
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If you or someone you love is struggling this season, please talk to someone. Whether it be a family member, friend, teacher, counselor, doctor, or another adult that you trust, there is always help. There is always hope that things will get better. I promise you they do.
Feel free to click here to find various call centers, recovery steps, and encouragement if needed. Help is ready when you are.
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