I don’t know how much sense I’m making. But I’m writing this just because…I don’t really know. I guess I need to.
It feels odd, still. As my housemate said the other day, it still doesn’t feel like anything’s happened. Like he’s just going to walk in the door again one day. He doesn’t feel gone.
And yet there’s a hole in my heart, and an empty seat in the house, and gaps in my day where there should be an email or a text or a smiling face at the train station.
It’s the little things that hit me the most. The ones I expect I can usually deal with – but it’s driving back along the ridge at night, singing loudly, and then feeling the tears start because I just want to be able to turn around and see him there in the back seat, smiling. It’s reading a line I wrote and thinking how much he liked it. It’s stepping out of the front door and hesitating a moment before I lock it, because surely there’s someone else coming to the canal with me?
He still walks beside me. I am so grateful to have known him, despite every moment of heartache it gives me.
Some people walk through life so quietly that most people don’t notice they’re there until they’re gone. And then – they aren’t there, and there’s a hole.
So I guess what I want to say is this:
If you think you’re worthless; if you think you don’t have a place, you don’t make a difference, you don’t matter….
You’re wrong. You do.
I only knew Ryan for a year. He wasn’t someone who made the world shake as he walked; he was quiet, thoughtful. You wouldn’t have noticed him in a crowded room, and you probably wouldn’t have glanced twice at him if you saw him on the street.
He didn’t think he was important. He felt so small, so tiny, so powerless. He didn’t think he was special or funny or different or clever or beautiful. He didn’t feel that he was anyone.
You think you can’t make a difference. That you don’t matter.
To the world you may be one person, but to one person you may be the world.
I have suddenly lost someone who meant a lot to me, even though he didn’t think he was important.
I miss the smile. I miss his long fingers, his quiet words, his interested glance. I miss the man who was always up for a walk or exploring, the writer who experimented in so many worlds, the fanboy who was always up for talking about anything that interested him. I miss the small things that made up everything about him.
I miss my friend who didn’t think he was brilliant or funny or clever or intelligent or wise or amazing, and who was every single one of those things.
And yes, I did tell him that he was, regularly.
(He was a derp, too, and an idiot. I told him that on a regular basis as well, although mostly when he drilled through water pipes and stayed up until 3am because the cat fell asleep on him and he didn’t want to move it.)
But you matter.
He didn’t have a choice in life. He got taken away just as he was getting started.
If you’re feeling small or worthless, if you’re feeling unimportant, if you’re just feeling grey and nothing.
Don’t choose to end things.
You will leave a hole in too many hearts that will never entirely heal, no matter how small or insignificant you think you are.