The Gretchen and Megan Film Festival of 1993

I believe that the first time I spent the night at Gretchen's was in 1993. For the occasion, we rented Better Off Dead, Harold and Maude and The Suicide Club... weren't we clever little fifteen-year-olds? It's things like this that make me wonder if I should be furious with myself, or if I should see the irony and smirk a little bit at it, because that's probably what Gretchen would be doing. Our friendship often veered towards the morbid, and we could match each other's dark humor, barb for barb. She was one of the most intelligent and witty people I have known, and that's saying a lot. I shouldn't wonder why there aren't rainbows and sunshine and puppies in my memories of Gretchen. It's not who she was.

I'm 3000 miles from home right now. When I get home, I'll get to the yearbooks and the photo albums and the shoesboxes of notes (yes, notes) about God-knows-what, and I'll re-learn to play Total Eclipse of the Heart for her on the piano. She used to call me, in the middle of the night, at my parents' house, and ask me to put the phone on speaker and play it for her. My parents were always so thrilled. I can't remember if she wanted to sing along to it, or if she just wanted to hear it, or if she just wanted to know that I would play it for her if she asked. I would. Any time. She knew that.

Is anyone blaming themselves, or asking themselves if there's something that we could have done? I started down that route, but really, I think that Gretchen just caught up with herself. Maybe, like our morbid little film festival back in 1993, she's in on her own joke and the rest of us aren't? And at least, I'm sure she's at peace, maybe for the first time since I met her in gym class sophomore year of high school.

I'll write more. It's hard at first. I remember last year, when Patrick died, I wrote one sentence and then couldn't write a thing about it for a few weeks, and then, suddenly, the dam burst and I couldn't stop writing. The validation and friendship that I got back from his friends and family, who were reading my writing on a website much like this one, had a lot to do with my grieving process. It's why I set this page up for us. If you feel like writing, write, post, talk, remember, whenever you're ready. And if not, that's okay, too, just check in and read the fragments and memories. We loved her. I do think that she knew that. I think that's important.