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I was going out with this girl, Sarah, for about a year and a half; we were madly in love with each other, never any badness of any sort in the relationship. She was a lovely person, borderline bubbly; always happy and filled with life; there wasn't a bad thought in my head when I saw her smile. Then, about two weeks ago her car got hit on the driver's side, by a semi truck. She spent the better part of the week in a coma, then her brain started dying. They (the people that work at the hospital, doctors and nurses and the like) ran a battery of tests on her and she failed every single one of them, including one that measured the blood flow to her brain, which meant that she was getting to blood to her brain, which meant that she was brain dead. They did one test the next day, to make it official that she was brain dead (they can't just go around willy nilly calling people brain dead, it's just not good practice); she failed that test (or passed it, I'm not sure), she was officially brain dead. That night they brought her down for surgery to remove her organs, as she wanted to be an organ donor, which is totally fucking cool, and offers some small consolation, sometimes.
Walking into her wake was something that almost did me in. It's so fucking wierd to see this girl that I loved for the past year and a half lying there in a coffin, not as a joke or anything, for the real deal. I also got to be one of the pall bearers; her ex-boyfriend was one also, and he kept cutting in front of me to be in the front for some reason. I was pissed off at him for a while, because it just seems like a classless thing to do; I mean, I loved her more than anything and she loved me more than anything and she always thought he was kind of a pud, but I got over that because of the knowledge that she did love me the best.
I keep seeing things that I know that she would love and want to call her and tell her about it, or I'll pick something up to save and show her, but then that realization that she's gone and never coming back hits me and I can't move for about a minute, just stand there and contemplate. I have a shrine for her; she actually built it a couple of months ago while I was taking a shower (she went into my room and found all the stuff that she had bought for me and put it on an empty shelf above my bed because she felt that I should have a shrine to her -- which is, like, the cutest thing ever), it keeps getting bigger and bigger because everything reminds me of her.
I'm operating at about 60% now, which doesn't bother me too much, because "Sixty percent Kent" has a certain ring to it; not to say that I wouldn't like the other 40% that was ripped cruelly away from me. And I can't listen to G'n'R ballads or Johnny Cash without bursting into tears. It sucks, I hate it. |
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