Let Me Let Go

My high school years held some pretty sweet memories. I can't say that I would ever want to go back and relive those days. But they do own a special place in my heart.

The first really close friendship I had with a boy was in high school. His name was Andrew; a year my junior. He had long brown hair(the kind of tresses cool guys like him would nonchalantly flip back out of their face). And then there were these big, sweet, brown eyes resting above the sort of teenage smile that let you know braces had once been there. He was the only boy in our little bestie group. I'm pretty sure he dated a handful of the girls in our posse. A charming kid with deep feelings and a funny personality to balance it all out - that was our Andrew.

We had a couple of classes together. Theater and choir - two of the most unserious courses ever. Our high school was known for theater. So I guess Drama was a little more legit. Anyway, these periods gave us the opportunity to just hang out and have fun everyday. And so, our friendship grew there, nestled between Shakespeare sonnets and show choir.

A couple of years into my college career, I had all but lost contact with these high school friends. Largely due to the fact that we were in different locations now. A bit of the disconnect was that we all had different interests by that point. I suppose that's why a phone call from our mutual friend Alexis seemed so out of the blue. She had left a couple of messages asking me to call her back earlier in the week. I had been too busy to respond as quickly as I should have. With work, school, and training for an upcoming marathon, I kept putting this phone call on the back burner. 

Finally, she got me on the phone. Those three words, even thinking about them throws me right back into that moment, "Andrew killed himself". I can honestly tell you I don't recall screaming. But I must have because I do remember my mom and brother rushing to my side from the other room. With concerned faces, they wondered what news could have caused this type of reaction.

I attended Andrew's funeral alone. It resembled a somber high school reunion. Everywhere I turned were faces I hadn't seen in a couple years. People looked familiar yet distorted at the same time. There was a kind sadness I had never seen in those sweet young faces up until that point. 

A few years later, I remember standing in line at the grocery store. My brain drifted as it does while waiting to be checked out. I happened to look up at the person in front of me. My mind couldn't quite make sense of what I was seeing. It was Andrew! All at once, I couldn't breathe and I wanted to cry. Finally, common sense slapped my brain back into reality. I realized that it was Andrew's older brother. He must have noted my reaction. I could tell by the way he looked at me. It was as if he knew I had just seen a ghost. I've never had a poker face. I know my emotions got the best of me in that moment. Whether my countenance appeared a bit sad, perhaps a little surprised, or maybe I just looked like someone who missed her friend - I know he could sense it.

Years later I saw Andrew's father working at a grocery store. I wanted to say hi. I wanted to tell him what Andrew meant to me and how much I missed him. But I didn't want to bother his dad at work. Besides the fact that I've never mastered the ability to talk and cry at the same time. Not successfully anyway.

About six years ago I gathered up the courage to reach out to that same brother on Facebook. I introduced myself as a good friend from high school. There were a few Polaroid pictures of Andrew that I'd been thinking of sending to his parents. He was happy to give me their address. The funny thing is, I thought of sending them these photos so many times over the years before this point. But everytime I started the process, I chickened out. I would think to myself "What if the day they receive these photos is the one day they weren't thinking about him? It would probably make them sad." Then I became a parent myself and realized there will never come a day they aren't thinking about him.

 You'd figure after that type of realization I would have sent the photos by express mail. The truth is, I still haven't. I don't know why. I can make copies to keep for myself. I would want to send the originals to his parents, of course. To have the actual film that captured his face - I feel that means something. 

But there's a part of me that can't let them go. Not just yet. I know I will someday. And at this point I'm going to have to double check with his brother to make sure their address is still valid.

In the age of "instant everything" I treasure this developed film. Just like our friendship, it took time and effort to create these pictures. I can hold the very same moments in my hand that I captured over 25 years ago......Just now, as I'm writing this post, I finally understand why it's been so hard to let these go! HE saw these photos. HE held these very same prints in his hands. We laughed about the silliness in the still shots. I can't believe I never thought of that before! I mean, not consciously anyway. But maybe that's why it's been so hard to give them up. 

People can brag about the advancements in technology. Give me a good old Kodak film any day. The pictures are grainy, out of focus, and the exposure might be too bright but to me they are perfect. ❤️