There are a lot of people in this world who are good people. There are also a lot of people in this world who appear to be good people, and for reasons that you may never understand, they are actually the worst kind of people for you to be around.
This semester has been a big lesson for me.
On September 21st I got the worst Facebook message in the history of Facebook messages:
"Marisa went into cardiac arrest and she was medflighted to the hospital in Boston from Cape Cod."
Marisa was so excited for that weekend. She was going to spend a relaxing weekend in the Cape with her family. She had been counting down to it for weeks, and her biggest concern while she was in the hospital was that she wasn't going to get to go. She told me she wished I was coming. I mean, Cape Cod. That means Marisa and Lauren on the beach talking about everything in our lives and catching up on everything since we last saw each other.
Instead, that was the last time Marisa would ever go to Cape Cod.
She passed away on October 14th. It still breaks my heart. I still cry about it sometimes. It's been two months, and my friend Julie (one of those good people I was referring to at the beginning) said that after two months I'd feel a little better. She's right; I do feel better. But do I feel the same as I did before all of this? No, absolutely not.
I'm different. I know I am. I definitely matured in Spain and became a more confident person, but this whole thing...this put everything into perspective.
Because of everything that happened, I reevaluated every single relationship in my life. Every single one. Those three weeks between September 21st and October 14th were absolutely miserable. I watched her sisters be so strong (and I am so proud of them), her parents go through the terrible heartbreak of losing their oldest daughter, and I saw my own mother (who never cries) overcome with emotion as the dirt hit the casket.
That's the worst sound ever, by the way. I can hear it in my head, even now. Clank, Clank, Clank. The dirt kept hitting the casket. It's like a knife being stabbed into your body every time someone puts in another shovel full of dirt.
Nobody should have to watch their friend lowered into the ground at age 22.
I went to the hospital. I got to say goodbye. Most people don't get to do that, so I should be thankful. Everyone was crying around her bed. I don't know if she knew what was going on; I almost hope she didn't. She looked at my dad and said, "Hi Carl." She thanked us for coming. Then she looked at me and said that she wanted to go to Cape Cod. "Yes, Marisa, of course we can go. Let's go now!" That was the only response I had.
I knew she wasn't going to get to go there. I guess she didn't. That's a good thing. She's there now, I bet. Her heaven was definitely the beach in Cape Cod.
She thanked us for coming and apologized for sleeping so much. That was so typical of her, thanking everyone even at her worst time.
I still can't believe I saw one of my best friends on her death bed. That's what it was; there is no sugar coating that. Every breath she took was laborious. I felt scared for her, more than anything else.
Nobody should ever see their friend like that. Maybe at age 88, but not 22. Twenty-two is way too young.
Maybe this is a little depressing to write and read, but it's the truth. I got tired of people saying "Oh, it's going to be ok!" or, immediately after she went into the hospital trying to tell me that she was going to recover.
I guess people didn't really know what to say to me. I get that. But I am very realistic. I didn't want to hear positive things after awhile because I knew what was going to happen. I had to prepare myself. I had hope for her, of course, since she was Marisa and she always overcame everything. But at the same time, I had a feeling this was it. This was going to be the end of her story.
Arielle and I called each other almost every day during those three weeks. I remember where I was when I heard she had been medflighted (sitting on my bed, getting ready to go out), I remember where I was when I heard they couldn't do much more for her (in the library, attempting to write a paper, and then upon hearing the news just leaving and aimlessly walking for a hour), I remember where I was when my dad called and told me to pack some stuff because Marisa didn't have much time and we had to drive her sister to Boston (half asleep, it was 7 AM), and I remember where she was when I heard she passed away (in the Student Union, doing homework, talking to Shannon).
It sucks. It all sucks. But at the same time, I learned who my real friends were and I made new ones.
Arielle and Chris were Marisa's other two best friends. We spoke at the funeral together and held each other as she was being buried. They are good people. I am going to keep them in my life because they make me happy and they remind me of the good times with Marisa. Plus, we seem to have a lot in common. No wonder Marisa kept us around her.
There were people who weren't there for me. Not at all. Sometimes I don't think people realize that there are more important things than school. When a friend needs help you drop everything you are doing and go to them. That's what I would do; that's what I always do. It doesn't matter how many pages I have to write, or how many exams I have. Death is a real thing. It's not a dumb boy problem, it's not a roommate issue. It's death. Death is permanent. And it hurts the people left behind like hell.
I get that sometimes people have no idea what to say. They've never had to deal with death. I get that, too. Sometimes, it hits people too close to home. Maybe their friend passed away, or a close family member. It might be too hard for them to talk about. I get that too.
But saying three words, "Are you okay?" or, "How are you?" That's not difficult. All anyone ever has to do is ask.
The number of times I sat at my desk in my room this semester staring at the wall, with tears rolling down my face...too many times to count. I wasn't okay. Some people didn't ask. To me that means they didn't care. And my response to that is a big middle finger and a defiant "see you never."
I wasn't asking for a lot. No one had to sit down with me and get into a big conversation about my feelings. They just had to ask how I was doing. There were a lot of people who did care, and I never revealed to them how much I was hurting. But their words mattered. Oh yeah, their words mattered a hell of a lot. Just to know someone cared, no matter how little I knew them. The little Facebook messages from people I hadn't talked to in years. My friends taking me out to the bar, and to dinner. A friend (I consider him a friend now) who I didn't know too well sitting down with me in the Union because he saw me sitting alone. My professors, who were unbelievably caring and understanding about my situation and gave me whatever time I needed to get back on my feet. Those little things meant so much.
It's so true when people say that the little things in life matter the most. I hate what happened, I hate that my friend is gone, and I hate that I'm never going to get hear her laugh again. But I am forever grateful that I realized what truly matters. My friends matter.
And when I say friends, I mean my real friends. I think I used to throw the word "friends" around too loosely. That word is sacred now. Only some people deserve the title of being my friend. The rest are acquaintances, and for the ones who acted like I was an idiot for my out of control behavior (often inappropriately way too drunk and emotional) from September 22nd-Thanksgiving break, well they are the biggest kind of asshole.
I hope that when put in a situation where a friend is hurting in the future, I will be a good friend to them. I think I will be.
I have incredible people in my life. Julie, Deedee, Lizzie, Jill, Taylor, my family, my cousins, Taylor and Mike's families. Michelle, who drove an hour and a half from Newport to come to Marisa's funeral, something she didn't have to do. LiseAnne, who tells me I'm not crazy and that these feelings are normal. Alyssa, who has this way of understanding me completely and never judges me. My Granada family, who have been a constant bright spot in an otherwise dark semester. They can always make me smile. There's more. So many more. The good people outweigh the bad, that's for sure.
The words "if you need anything, I'm here" never meant so much to me. The people who said those words to me are forever in a special place in my heart. All I can say is thank you, thank you, thank you.
This experience taught me so much. There are people who are disguised as good, but in reality they seemingly only care about themselves. That's okay. I'll let them be. But they deserve no part in my life anymore.
I've always said that the best quality someone can have is the desire to help others, and the ability to relate and be down to earth. I discovered so many people at this University who have those qualities. I don't know how much I pray, or think about the existence of God, but I definitely thank God for them.
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