They say that the veil between worlds, between ours and theirs, the living and the dead, is thinnest on Halloween. I wish it were true.
I would reach out and say hello, thank him for being my friend. I want him to know it's okay. Ask him how he's been and feel him squeeze my hand.
He would have been 25 today. The oldest out of all of us and now the youngest.
They also say that you grow around grief -- it doesn't get smaller, you just get bigger. The pain doesn't hit the sides so often.
I buried the pain... for longer than I thought. It wasn't until last year, when my therapist asked me to explain what was so funny about Fin being dead, that I realised. I had been so determined to be okay about it that it became something I brushed off.
Not him, or the memory of him, but what had happened. It was easier to be flippant about the fact he wasn't here anymore than to think about why.
It's okay to be sad, she said and suddenly the punchline that had never been funny in the first place caught in my throat.
It's strange to admit to because I don't want it to sound callous. If you've lived through loss, the most definite and yet surreal experience, then I think you can understand. How grief traps you for a while, let's you go and then pulls you back. Makes a muddle of your mind.
There is a silver lining to be found though. And you have to look for those.
Grief has made me so much more grateful for the people in my life. The moments we share, the abundance of love you can have in a cup of tea or FaceTime or dance. I don't hold back anymore when it comes to telling people I love them. Even giving a stranger a compliment -- you might make their day and isn't that all we should try for? To make everyone's day a little lighter.
Fin could always make my day.
I wish everyone could have met him and felt the care and generosity he offered. Then again, selfishly, I'm glad it's us he chose to care for.
Indulge me as a I remember--
He wanted to be a doctor. He was going to be a volunteer in Borneo over the summer. All he wanted was to help people.
His jokes were never at the expense of others, and they made us laugh until we couldn't breathe. He was thoughtful and forgiving. 17 year olds (me) can be careless at times with our words but was always better, understanding, patient.
He loved carrot cake and Star Wars and David Bowie.
There wasn't a more supportive person. Every shared ambition he cheered on. And every secret you told him, he kept.
I would give up all my secrets for one more day with him. You would too if you had known him.
But that's the thing about legends. They're simply that, and ghosts don't brush past our shoulders on Halloween, and he will always be eighteen.
Loving, for all its pitfalls, is easier than grieving and so that's what I try to do now.
To remember and be grateful, and to be for others what Fin was for me.
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