What do you do when your friend is just gone?

A friend of mine recently passed away.

It was sudden. It was unexpected. It was painful.

It is still painful.

I grew up making friends everywhere I go; whether they last long or not, I always take my time with them as something to cherish and learn from.

Paolo was one of those people I never knew how the friendship came to be — never really understood how or why or when or where; it just happened.

Paolo happened.

He was tall, lanky, wore really high-grade glasses, clumsy, smart, funny — I could go on; Paolo was a dear human being I never knew I’d be able to keep up with.

My energy could go high, but his goes higher than anyone I know — and I’m not complaining, not at all; I’m merely fascinated by it as he cared deeply, loved deeply. He felt everything deeply.

He felt everything deeply almost to a fault.

Not that I hate it or blame him for it, but there were days I just wanted him to be selfish; for him to be selfish enough to go all out with what he wanted and not give way to his doubts or insecurities.

I think he did. In little ways.

Losing my friend without being able to tell him the things I wanted to tell him — because I was too busy, I was too exhausted… I couldn’t even count how many times I thought of him just because and I didn’t tell him; now I’m filled with regret that I didn’t.

He was always there with a smile, with a hug, with a corny joke that would still make me laugh; losing Paolo was something so excruciatingly painful that I didn’t even cry when I was told of his passing.

I was angry. I was furious.

I wore my Doctor Who hoodie to his wake in honour of our friendship, because I knew how much he loved that I loved Doctor Who as he does.

As he did.

At the wake, I said to him, “Really, Paolo? During Pride Month? So homophobic.” and me, Patti, and Kevin laughed.

Paolo has always comforted me in my fear of death. I’ve lost so much, and Paolo understood that — and he saw the pain I carried in our brief time together; the world that doesn’t stop turning when someone you love dies and that played a big part as to why I’m writing this now.

The current societal norms have normalised moving on quickly after loss as resiliency — in order to keep up with the capitalistic demands of corporations because we have jobs to do.

We're living in a world where being in pain, grieving, is not particularly allowed.

Not for too long anyways.

I'm still baffled as to why our society invalidates grief that lasts longer than they believe it should; and writing this is me carving out a safe space for my grief for my friend indefinitely.

This is me grieving. This is me trying.

This is me grasping the idea that my friend is no longer here to send me memes, laugh at our inside jokes, to remind me that it’s fine to be vulnerable, and that grief never ends, and that’s okay.