Where's that crazy girl?
You don't get drunk on red wine
And fight no more,
'Cause I don't see you anymore,
Since the hospital

-The Background, Third Eye Blind

The worse thing to happen, happened on March 20th.

It pissed rain on that day and it’s doing the same thing today. Except what happened that day can’t happen again.

Because that was the day my best friend died.

I felt stupid standing in the hospital with her magazine and favourite chocolate bar in hand. The nurse took us to the body. I waited, in desperate wanting, for anyone to tell me they’ve made a mistake.

Because best friends don’t die at twenty years old. Best friends are supposed to grow old together. They run away to each other’s house, stay up and talk all night, and you’d be scared to fight one because the other one’s not far behind. Best friends make promises to stay together and…

Then… then… Then there was just me.

My Grief was Vast

It vacationed with me in Paris, New York, and Saigon. Incessantly insisting on coming to the cities my best friend had herself insisted we go.

When I was in Vancouver, Grief climbed into bed with me, ate with me, and went out with me. I, in return, was committed to it.

It dropped in when I graduated university and toasted me with Survivor’s Guilt. It dropped by after my husband proposed and reminded me who wasn’t there to be my Maid of Honour.

Grief is a bipolar, unexpected house guest

Causing crumpled tissues to manifest. On other stays, it happily reminisces over the good ol’ days.

The Magical Heart Work of Acceptance

Over the years, I’ve had dreams about my best friend, so vivid that I reached for my phone to call her after I woke up.

If they hadn’t showed me the body, I would still think someone was fucking with me and that she’s actually selling Vancouver mansions and flying out to New York on the weekends to record her debut album.

It took years to accept that she’s gone. Then it took more time for other things to marinate in acceptance. Like yo, my kids will never know her.

Acceptance is discovering and rediscovering all the holes in your heart and knowing you need to breathe through it.

The Magical Heart Work of Feeling Your Feelings

I’m notorious for being okay when I’m not okay. Not many things faze me. It’s like a blessing and a curse.

It’s a curse because til this day, I don’t know if I mourned properly. Did I allow myself to feel sad? Angry? Bat-shit crazy?

She was my home. The one person who made it okay to be my true self. Then the universe took her away and I was left to figure out my feelings on my own. Wow, thanks.

Do the cathartic cry. Give yourself compassion and kindness. Find the space to simultaneously feel joy and sadness and not feel like a bitch.

The Magical Heart Work of Forgiveness

I blamed myself for not getting to the hospital earlier. There was no last moment of tenderness and hand holding for her and I. What would we have said to each other if we had that time?

I blamed myself for not recognizing it was meningitis. That’s why my neuropsychology degree is in a nameless drawer, and I can’t even look at it.

And I lived with that blame for a long time.

I can’t tell you when the forgiveness started to find its way in, but it was necessary for me to forgive myself for the things I could not control.

The Magical Heart Work of Self-Care

After her death, work became my medication. I worked with ferocity until I ended up in the hospital with internal bleeding.

It’s no secret that your emotional well-being is very much connected to your physical well-being.

So get enough sleep, eat well, and exercise.

Try.

The Magical Heart Work of Rebuilding

The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident
the art of losing’s not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

One Art, Elizabeth Bishop

My memory of Thao is like a home we shared.

When we first met, we had our own room; mine pink, hers blue. Saccharine 90’s pop would reverberate through the house. Sundays smelled like her signature cinnamon buns. It was safe here.

The adventure car was in the driveway. It took us to two proms, late-night pho, and America - all within 48 hours. It kept the fridge stocked with restaurant leftovers. And over leftovers one day, she said with ambition that electrified and crackled, “Let’s build an empire.”

I said yes.

Death showed up shortly, and brought a demolition crew. They worked hard and quick. In the morning, all I found were pieces of things and our dream home was now a painful lot.

Time crawled by.

I glared at the lot day in, day out. And finally it got sick of seeing me and asked, “What now, you homeless sack?”

“I’m building a new home next door.”

I announced, and began the magical heart work of rebuilding my life. I began to dream again. To fall in love again.

Because loss is inevitable, but defeat isn’t a possibility.

The Magical Heart Work of Getting Help

Family, friends, and teachers stepped in during my grief.
A relief -
Because I needed help, but had too much pride to ask.

I rewired my brain to believe that I wasn’t alone. I know now that I never will be.

I made room for new friends, and trusted them with the periodic resurgence of these difficult emotions. It’s not something you just “get over”. Loving someone is opening yourself up to loss. If you never stopped loving, you end up making space for grief.

It’s not too bad when I talk about it now. I understand that grief and healing follows whatever trajectory it wants. Give yourself permission to seek support whenever you need it.

The Magical Heart Work of Wedding Planning

If anyone questions the way you’re honouring your loved ones at your wedding, just don’t invite them. It’s called boundary setting.

Let go of wedding traditions that don’t fit anymore. I didn’t choose a Maid of Honour for this reason. In my heart I knew, that role was always hers.

We used to make our graveyard shifts go faster by mixing drinks. If she was at our wedding, she’d tell me to double my shots of gin while I bartended in my glamorous red Qipao. And knowing what you know now, the blue roses in my bouquet and blue buttercream icing on our wedding cake makes sense right?

I’m such a subtle bitch.

A happy, subtle bitch.

The Magical Heart Work of Being Alive

Grief stays hidden in a world inundated by plasticky, good vibes. But if there’s grief, there must be something that transcends that right?

And I am so sorry if you’ve lost someone.

Maybe one day, when you fall back in love with the rain and you think, “I’m going to share a story about a kickass person who left this place too soon,” I’ll be here to listen to your story.