I have yet to make a post concerning the death of Chelsea Wilson. One year and 65 days has passed, and, for me, while the shock has subsided and I can persist weeks without shedding a tear for her, I still think about her every day. My dreams are no longer colored with the darkness of her death turned to life again, or the imminent feeling of knowing she will die soon. I still dream of her, but in my dreams she seems to be a normal, living and breathing person.
The countless diary entries and words, thoughts I have had for her in the past year. I have shed so many tears, but most of them came during the time period of September 25, 2013 (the date of her death) to April 2014. Following April 2014, tears are no longer freely flying, and I think normal humans can recover from almost everything. That said, I think about her every, single day.
I now know I am so much like Chelsea, and this has only become evident in the past year or two. Being honest and brash, and I act in the same careless/crazy ways she did. Sometimes I pull this off with more finesse, or maybe she did. The unglaublich things she would tell me, and the ways I reckoned my life to somehow follow the same actions. It's something about the girl's wit and honesty that I am still trying to master.
We shared hobbies, fears, and goals,
If I could take you through Chelsea's death and everything I know and have experienced with Chelsea, it would take ages. To me, she was just that one very very special friend that remains close and precious. It is a cliche, really, but I love her dearly. She was a tremendously popular and smart girl, but I know how lonely she truly was.
The day after she died, on the airplane from Germany to the United States, I wrote her eulogy. I tried to watch The Great Gatsby as well as Louis C. K, but now even a tiny morsel of a laugh could not pass my lips. I simply could not concentrate. What I did more than anything was read her obituary. I think I have it memorized - I have read the thing so many times. It shock beyond anything I had ever experienced. The obituary is still online.
As for writing her eulogy, that came as
keine große Problem. My words and feelings for her are abundant, and I only needed a 5 minute speech. What I most deeply felt was our childhood together. Yes, at the time of her death we were both 27 and seemingly closer than ever, but what I felt more profoundly than anything was our childhood and youth together. I remembered everything and felt our connection was extraordinary. Friends from the same block until the end.
I felt no anxiety about speaking in front of the crowd, only sadness and grief. Such a great, big grief that lasted and lasted. The day after her funeral, I maintain, was the worst day of my life. Before this funeral, I was full of worry but I was also anxious and could neither eat nor sleep. The plane ride from Frankfurt and the pick-up from Knoxville had to occur as well as the meetings with old friends and family that had also not occurred in years. The day after the funeral, however, I could not move. I could not function to put a t-shirt on my body or hang a piece of cloth within my closet. I was a bit hungover, but beyond that, the strength was gone knowing that my best friend in the world was truly dead.
