I've Got Sunshine on a Cloudy Day

Please know that I do briefly mention suicide in this post. I encourage you to read mindfully or choose not to read if this topic is too sensitive. 

In May of last year, one of the closest and most important people to me, Audrey, died by suicide at the age of 39. Some of you may have seen a brief message I posted around that time in honor of her. It’s taken me almost a year to be able to fully acknowledge her death in this space. Quite frankly, it’s just been too painful. 

That original message captured exactly what I wanted to say, however, some people who loved her recently held a memorial that my family and I were unable to attend. Instead of being physically present, I opted to build off of that original writing and share the longer version with her husband to be read aloud during the event. 

I learned afterward that it was used to close the service. 

With only a few adjustments made to best reflect both the original and adapted versions, I am now sharing that writing with you. This is difficult, but Audrey’s life and love are so massively worth sharing.

Here goes nothing. 

I first met Audrey when I was four years old and she was sixteen. Clearly, it was love at first sight because I strategically employed my top-tier skills of persuasion to convince both her and my mom that night that she should move in with us. She promised she would as soon as she turned 18. Thank God she kept that promise.

Audrey was like the warmest, coziest, most worn-in blanket, comforting me with love and safety. I am surprised that the moments that I remember most are the ones that felt almost insignificant as they were happening, like the time she brought tofu home (nobody knew what that was at the time) and was turned away from the stove having a casual conversation when it burst into flames behind her. Or the time she showed me how to press rose petals into books, sprinkling them over her desk before putting on a glass top so she would always have flowers nearby. Or the time she introduced me to kombucha and I absolutely hated it, only to love it years later. Or, my crowning achievement, the time I convinced her that the only way I could fall asleep was if she gave me tickles so she faithfully did every single night… until she caught on. 

I have tokens of our life together – a picture here, a necklace she gave me there, but there is so much that spills beyond any tangible piece of her. It’s the intangibles – the feel of her hug, the way her voice softened and curved when she was excited about something, the glitter in her eyes, the unexpected dichotomies of her character (she loved healthy food but would also sneak into the pantry to spread frosting on graham crackers) or her proclivity for trying new things… even strange things (she was never able to talk me into drinking clay) – that I most want to hold on to. 

Audrey was ethereal, magical… special. We were two souls knitted together in our love for each other. Now, I am left with the unnaturally frayed and torn edges where her loops used to intersect with mine, a symbol of the impact required to tear two beings apart.

I will never get back the history I had with her with someone else. She knew me longer and loved me more completely than most. I loved her completely, too. It hurts too much to know that from now on I’ll have to explain her to those new ones that I love instead of introducing her.

I am eternally thankful that I got to be in her world and even more thankful that I got to be loved and taken care of by her. She is an essential part of my root system and I feel exposed and untethered without her. I will love her and miss her every day, but for now, I wait in hopeful expectation for the day we are reunited under the same roof once again. Audrey, leave the light on for me, will you?

Xo, 

Abbey