June 30th, 2005

June 30th

I hate this date. The only date I hate more than this one is June 28th. June 28th, 1986, I got a phone call from my best friend's boyfriend, calling me in broken speech and hysterics to inform me that she was dead. Suicide. 14 years old. I have no pictures of her, but there is one on her grave marker underneath a little brass cover.

June 30th, 2000 - my best friend Shane dies suddenly after scoring a homerun in a company sponsored softball game. He collapsed after crossing home plate and went into a flurry of seizures and respitory arrest, his blood having been toxic from medication he had been prescribed that his body was not metabolizing. I have a picture taken of him as he swung the bat - he died two minutes after it was taken. Click here to see it.

19 years. 5 years. I hate this fucking week every year. I miss them terribly and I cannot stop thinking about them, hearing their laughter, seeing them smile and a million other things I will never stop missing. I know this sounds trite and cliché, but if I could just have one more day with them, just one fucking day, I might have some peace with all of this. Instead, I have to live with the realization that I still feel broken.