My friend, Jamie, died a few days ago. Her body has been turned to ash. My emotions are still raw. I rebel at the idea that she is gone. I still can’t speak of her in the past tense. Her presence is too powerful to be relegated to history. I’m not ready to say goodbye.
Me and Jamie in Dublin
Every morning, I wake up on an inhale of hope and possibilities. The first exhale, however, brings with it the memory of what has happened. I am blindsided by panic and grief. I madly search my just awaking mind for a thought that will distract me from my new reality. Anything to keep the horror at bay. Anything to silence the screaming of my heart.
Hours go by before I latch onto something strong enough to provide me respite from my feelings… full, blessed, denial-filled minutes at a time.
Jamie is everywhere.
I glance at my cat and can only remember how allergic Jamie is to her. I try to numb out with TV and am confronted by Tim Roth, whose slexiness – Jamie’s word – we discuss on a weekly basis. I turn on the radio only to hear one of her favorite songs – she has so many. I discover a new band and immediately wonder if she’s heard of them, secretly knowing she’s already researched their story and can identify at least 10 of their songs on the first note. I reach for a book and recall her review of it. I power up my computer and am greeted by the world to which she introduced me and in which she was the first to encourage and champion me.
I must leave the house to escape the memories.
I open the closet and remember our plans to go shopping for a wardrobe makeover. I glance at my toes’ chipped polish and realize I still haven’t taken her to my favorite pedicure place. I reach for shoes and see the new ones over which she has yet to squeal in approval.
I run outside.
The sun is shining, another perfect day for her to drive around with the top down and tweet me about the latest Chachi – another of her words – dodging paparazzi or idling next to her at a red light. A billboard advertises the new Sandra Bullock rom-com to which I have threatened to drag her. There’s the Jerry’s Deli where we last ate in town.
I meet up with some friends – people who don’t know her, who can’t feel how the world has gotten a little darker and a little heavier, who have never heard her laugh. Maybe they’ll be the distraction I crave. Their first questions are about my trip to Ireland, the trip from which I returned less than two weeks ago, the trip I went on with Jamie. How do I answer their queries? Yes, I had an amazing time. Yes, it was beautiful. Yes, the people were nice. Yes, Jamie and I had one prolonged, 8-day conversation about our respective hopes, dreams, worries, joys and values, interrupted only by raucous, gloriously out-of-tune bouts of singing Kings of Leon, Journey and Franz Ferdinand at the top of our lungs… Yes, Jamie tripped over a curb and injured her ankle on our last day, and that injury caused a blood clot, and that blood clot killed her. Yes.
We have plans on the calendar, to compare pictures and rehash the hilarity of our adventure. She’s burning me a copy of that one iPod playlist I love. She holds half my memories of the road trip. I haven’t yet thanked her nearly enough for the early birthday gift.
There is no one to blame. It’s not my fault, or the curb’s fault, or Dublin’s fault, or Ireland’s fault, or the airline’s fault, or the doctor’s fault, or… anyone’s. Really. Knowing that doesn’t make this easier. Jamie’s death serves no purpose, satisfies no logic, fulfills no justice, upholds no plan and makes no sense. She’s not done yet, I swear. We just talked about death. She doesn’t like it.
We still have new restaurants to check out, concerts to hit, American Idol results to discuss, anti-Prop 8 appeals to support, authors to discover, decorating ideas to mull. I want to watch her become a mom, and see her gloat about what a great dad her husband, Andy, is. I want to commiserate over the joys of being an aunt. I want her always to take pictures that ensure her chin looks hot – in hotel beds and out. I want her never to throw away that yellow coat. I want her to be in my wedding. I want to turn 80 and have her, at 73, laugh her ass off at my creaking knees, while her grandkids repaint that awesome patio furniture for the umpteenth time. I want her to stay in my life.
Now, none of that is possible. All those expectations and intentions are dust in the wind. I’m not okay with that.
I can’t yet reconcile myself to Jamie’s death. Perhaps, I never will. I have no predictions or answers or timetables. I do have some knowledge, however. I know that Jamie’s spirit is too brilliant to extinguish. She is the epitome of life, and the best role model for how to live it that I’ve ever met. Her laughter is infectious, generous and abundant. Her passion – for people, places, things, ideas and dreams – is unquenchable and uncontainable. Her love is unconditional and inspiring. She embraces joy rather than angst, gratitude rather than envy, hope rather than fear. She is the kind of person I yearn to be.
I don’t know where I go from here, but I do know that I want to honor Jamie. I want to be of support to the amazing family and other friends she left behind too soon. I want to walk through the world with passion and self-confidence and tenacity. I owe it to Jamie, now, to do more that yearn for a life fully lived. I owe it to her to live it.
Jamie: I love you, my friend, and miss you. Thank you for inviting me into your life. It was too short, but oh, so sweet.
califmom
/ May 16, 2009Having lost a one of my best friends far too early in life – a vibrant, amazing woman – I asked so many of the questions you’re asking. I still ask them, and it’s been 5 years. I feel blessed to have had her in my life, as you feel having Jamie in yours. I only know Jamie through Twitter and Tumblr, but her zest for life leaps from the screen. It’s infectious. I can’t look at her pictures without smiling, or read her words without drifting off on her adventures right along with her. The world was blessed to have her, even for a day, but I am so very sad you have to live without her, even for a minute.
califmom’s last blog post..Half Way There
Mandy
/ May 16, 2009Sweetie, I am so so so sorry for your loss. How unimaginable. I am here if you need anything or just to talk or listen. My heart is with you. xoxo
Mandy’s last blog post..Turkey Sausage Pasta Bake
Dani (daniluwho)
/ May 18, 2009I’m terribly sorry, this is an enormous loss.
Jamie was the first person I followed on Twitter. I was so upset over Prop 8 and living in a very small, conservative town- I turned to Twitter and searched for someone who was just as devastated about the results. That’s how I found Jamie. I loved her politics, wit, taste in music, and caring replies. I very much enjoyed getting to know her through Twitter. In fact, I liked her so much I assumed anyone she followed had to be just as cool. And you are!
So hang in there, please… I know it’s going to be rough for some time, beyond rough. But people, who you’ve never met (like me) care deeply and will be grieving with you.
I’m thankful that I stumbled upon Jamie and even knowing her briefly is a wonderful gift.
Kat
/ May 18, 2009I am so sorry that your trip took such a sad turn. I’m so very sorry for your loss. Losing someone close to you can be difficult enough, but I think it’s even more difficult when it’s so sudden and unexpected. My heart goes out to you.
I know you don’t know me, but if you ever want to just sit and talk with a stranger (and a pretty cool chick if I do say so myself) I’m more than willing to hang.
Kat’s last blog post..I Want My Money Back!
Janet
/ May 18, 2009Dearest Emily. Rest assured Jamie loved you and you gave her something she needed in LA your trust and friendship. She talked about you all the time and couldn’t wait for me to meet you at her birthday party.
She did indeed have a fabulous trip. She told me so and sent pictures with titles everyday she was so happy. Remeber to tell your half of the trip and I am sure Jamie will give you signs if you are telling the story wrong.
Your first 4 paragraphs are exactly what I have been trying to put into words and I was wondering if you would mind me posting them on my facebook page. Thanks for being her friend and thanks for wrtiting such a moving tribute in her honor. I will be in on Thursday so I will see you soon I hope. Janet (Jamie’s Mom)
emmajames
/ May 19, 2009Califmom: The world has, indeed, been blessed in having her. Thank you so much for your sentiments.
Mandy: Thanks, babe. I look forward to seeing you soon.
Dani: I started following you through Jamie too. She is so very deeply missed.
Kat: Thank you. I think Jamie would be pleased if we met IRL, and annoyed that she had to miss it.
Janet: Everything I may have given Jamie, she gave back 100 fold. My heart breaks for the grief you carry. I will see you soon. And no, of course I do not mind if you post however much of this you wish to on your FB page. You are in my heart.
Notactuallyme
/ May 19, 2009“She embraces joy rather than angst, gratitude rather than envy, hope rather than fear. She is the kind of person I yearn to be.”
What a beautiful eulogy. I hope I live my life in such a way that one of my friends will be inspired to write thusly about me.
I’m so sorry for your loss, and even sorrier that I didn’t know Jamie in real life.
Lemmonex
/ May 19, 2009God, emma, I am just so sorry to read this. My thoughts are with you.
Lemmonex’s last blog post..Don’t Make Me Beg
molly
/ May 21, 2009I’m so sorry. This post is a one wonderful way to honor her; your love for her shines through the sadness.
molly’s last blog post..it is empowering.
calimama @ compactbydesign
/ May 24, 2009Em, I have to say, you are wrong about one thing. Jamie will always stay in your life. I know it’s trite but it’s true, what we have gained from having her in our lives has changed us and we will be better forever because of it.
Think of her every time you hear her favorite song(s), and when ever you buy a smashing pair of shoes. And sometimes, do something that may feel out of character – just because it’s what Jamie would do. I know I will. XO
calimama @ compactbydesign’s last blog post..chocolate relief
Celeste
/ May 29, 2009I am so, so sorry for your loss. I knew Jamie through twitter and she was always such a joy to chat with. I cannot imagine the loss of such a good friend in non-virtual life. Your post is a great tribute to your feelings and her forever place in your heart and life. I do hope that soon you can again smile at all the wonderful things you two did share.
Joe MIlls
/ June 6, 2009Hey Em,
Its Joe. I sit here crying over your post and brings back flashes of losing CC just months ago, and it made me want to reach out to you and just say that you are loved and although I did not know Jamie. She sounds like the souls that we so often lose to quickly, and there seems to never be a good enough reason for it. So I will try to live my life better and enjoy it that much more, so souls like Jamie’s are not forgotten.
Love Joe and Jen
emmajames
/ June 10, 2009Sorry for the delay in responding to the outpouring of support from everyone who has commented. Thank you so much. It means the world.
NAM: I, too, wish you, and everyone else, had known Jamie. Just a fucking amazing chic.
Lem: Thanks, chica. I’m finally crawling back out of my hole, and look forward to seeing what you’ve been up to in the interim.
Molly: I simply can’t put to words the impact Jamie had and continues to have on my life. I will never stop missing her. But it eventually will be with more joy than pain.
Calimama: I know. xoxo
Celeste: I’m glad you had a chance to know Jamie even a little through Twitter. She absolutely loved that community.
Joe: Now I’m crying again! Thank you so much for your support, and Jen’s. My heart goes out to you over CC’s death. And I am glad that you, too, are learning how to embrace the weird cycle of life. xo