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Friday Night Tears

October is a rough month for me.  It means my birthday is drawing near, and who wants to get any older?  Not me!  And more importantly, it’s the anniversary of Tim’s death.

Every time I see those first leaves fall it takes me back to that day.  Standing outside of his house while the police officer tried to talk to me about the situation.  I was afraid if I looked into his eyes as he spoke the moment would be real.  So instead I stood there listening to him while silently staring at the leaves on the ground until the tears blurred my vision.

How stupidly naive I was to think that moment could be any less real.  My friend was dead.  That’s as real as it fucking gets.

This year I’ve been trying so hard to ignore all the feelings that surround a friend’s death anniversary, but last night those feelings found me.  I was at a party enjoying myself when the man I was with started talking to a friend of his who shares my name.  As common as my name is last night was the first time I’d ever met someone sharing the name.  I was amused until he called her “snielson.”  I instantly felt like I’d been kicked in the chest; Tim called me snielson.

I stood there in awkward silence nursing my drink until it was time for me to head home.  Home to an apartment where still, four years later, my books still smell like Tim.


  • I’m so sorry. I know exactly how you feel. My dad died 2 and a half years ago and I miss him every single day.

    Hang on to the happy memories you have and, hard as it might be, be grateful for the times you had with him rather than sad that he’s no longer here

  • I swear, your posts have a strong effect on me–they either crack me up or make me want to cry.

  • I am sorry that you are still hurting over the loss of your friend.

  • I’m so sorry Sarah. That sucks. Tomorrow is the 6th anniversary of the death of my big brother. Yelch. His funeral was held on Halloween, which was perfect, because he was a morbid guy and would have loved that – but it has scarred fall, October and Halloween for me forever. Death sucks.

  • Tink & Michelle, I’m so sorry for each of your losses as well.

  • on the 7th anniversary of my aunt’s death i forgot about it until that afternoon and i spent the rest of the day feeling guilty. i don’t know if it is worse to remember or worse to forget. awful. thank you for sharing this, it makes the pain of losing someone a little less lonely.

  • Whatever your beliefs, and however much pain Tim’s death has caused you… consider that things like that happen BECAUSE of Tim. Maybe the books still smell like him because he wants you to remember fondly. That the nickname he gave you came up last night because he wants you to remember and smile. Wherever he landed, he now knows that he was loved and adored, even if he didn’t know it here. And maybe he’s making sure he’s not forgotten, even if never forgiven.

  • Wow that was deep. Similar to what another commented said, your posts really have me. You either make me laugh or almost have me in tears. I’m lucky in a sense that I have only ever had the elderly die in my life. I cannot imagine how hard it must be for you.

    In regards to getting another year older, well there is nothing that can be done about that, but don’t worry, cause you still look great =o)

    Chin up =o)

  • I love what Lisa said. That is beautiful. I am going to start thinking that way about little things I see and hear that remind me of my big brother. Thanks.

  • Lisa: That’s an excellent way to look at things. I needed that positively, thank you.

    Lozza: Chin is officially up.

    Michelle: I drove by your crazy cool house the other day and waved at it.

  • Death anniversaries are always shitty–no way around it. But I second what Lisa said–that’s beautiful. Here’s to hoping for the day when your friend’s death anniversary brings you joy in remembering the gift that he was in your life more than the sadness at his loss.

  • I’m sorry for your loss.

  • My boyfriend was killed on Oct. 12 (going on 11 years now.) Every year, when the air takes on a chill and the humidity drops out, I feel a weight settle on me. As much as I never wanted to believe it, time has helped but you’ll never stop missing the missing.

    Alcohol helps.

  • I kind of deal with death on a professional level, and as much as people say you’ll get over it, you never do. I think Tim must have been one hell of a guy to be remembered as often as you remember him. I don’t know about you, but I hope that when I’m gone, the people that I loved in this life will remember me that way too.

  • I’m so sorry you are going through this. Lisa’s comment was great… remember that and read it often.

    P.s. I love your new masthead. Does that count for anything? 🙂

  • I lost a baby this month and won’t ever be able to look at October the same way again. Funny how tragedy changes things. I’ll be thinking of you, sending you some “white light”.

  • I like to think of those moments as reminders being sent by the loved one who’s passed on. Whenever I hear a song or see something odd that triggers the memory I say a quiet thank you for turning my gaze or putting the channel right there so that I could never forget just how close we were. It is seriously the only thing that helped me to not be a puddle of tears every time it happened. Now I try to think of it as a gift.

  • I really like what Lisa said ^

    I’m so sorry for your hurt. It never gets better, it just gets different. Don’t force yourself not to feel. Honor his memory by feeling it all.

  • I love you and miss Tim too.

  • Hi,

    I just wanted to tell you that I read your blog all the time, and I know how it feels to lose someone to a suicide. I lost my father to it three years this November. November gets to be my rough month. 🙁

    It’s hard because it seems like you can remember the day exactly, and for me at least it doesn’t get a lot easier.

    Good luck to you, and try to focus on the positive things about your friend, that’s what I keep telling myself to do about my dad. 🙂

  • Wow. What an unfortunate coincidence. Good luck with this hard time, I feel your pain (but mine comes in May). Remeber the good times and relish in them.

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