The life and loss of my best friend

You know that one friend that you meet at a very young age, whom you plan your entire life out with and with whom you somehow never manage to lose contact? That was Erin for me. We had met in kindergarten, although we didn’t become close until second grade. But once we had decided that we were BFFs, there was no stopping us or our futures together.

We decided around the age of 8 that we would go to the University of Michigan together. We would be roommates, of course. We had many-a-sleepover filled with only the best snacks — popcorn, candy, the works — where we would discuss our futures in great detail. We were both extremely academically driven, taking as many advanced classes together as we could. 

At the end of fifth grade, she told me that she was moving to Manchester, England with her family because of her mom’s work. I proceeded to have a breakdown. I was so inconsolable that my parents drove me almost two hours to Ann Arbor just to eat at my favorite restaurant. 

She was in England for three years, coming back to Michigan to visit once or twice. Ironically, we ended up in Dubai over winter break at the same time in sixth grade, and we spent the day at the Atlantis, The Palm resort together with our families. 

Erin came back to Michigan for one year during freshman year of high school. Unfortunately, I don’t think I ever met up with her. 

After that one year, she moved to Pennsylvania with her family and spent the rest of her high school career there. But, still, we never lost contact or love for each other.

In another series of coincidences, we ended up in Detroit at the same time a few weeks before the beginning of college, and by a stroke of luck, met up for breakfast. We talked about what this new chapter in our lives was going to look like. She was going to attend Rose-Hulman Institute of Technology, and me, USC. 

Even though we were nowhere near each other, or going to the University of Michigan together, we were both so proud of each other. She had discovered her love of mathematics, and I had found my love of writing. We were both going to succeed in our own rights, and it was exciting. 

Her 18th birthday was a few weeks later, Sept. 15, and I wished her a happy birthday like I had every year since we were 6. 

And on Sept. 20, 2021, just five days later, I learned that she had passed away the day before because of an ATV accident. I saw it on a mutual friend’s Instagram story. 

I was hysterical. My memory of that night flashes in and out, but I remember ending up on the floor of my neighbor’s dorm, unable to communicate what had happened. Although it was late at night, and later back home in Michigan, I frantically called my mom once I was able to recognize the people and things around me. Thankfully, she picked up. 

We cried together on the phone. She had learned before me; Erin’s parents had called her to explain what had happened. She just had no idea how to tell me, so she didn’t. 

I flew back home for her funeral a few days later. I was asked to speak during the service and, through tears, I did. 

It’s common knowledge that people compartmentalize grief in different ways. I usually don’t cry about her loss anymore — the last time I did is when I stayed with her parents for a few days this past winter break — and I love sharing her life story, about how crazy smart she was, how tall she was, how sporty she was (she had been an amazing soccer goalie all her life, even playing for her college’s team for the short time she attended) and how incredibly kind she was. 

My little sisters, who grew up with Erin’s influence, admired her in unimaginable ways. My youngest sister, who’s now 12, took up soccer and keeps a picture of Erin in her athletics bag at all times. 

Strangely, my grief managed to manifest itself in my dreams. Even though it’s been a year and a half, I still have dreams with Erin in them with relative frequency. I should actually call them nightmares, as in almost every one of these instances I’m aware that she’s not here in real life. I try to hold onto her memory during these nights as long as I can. 

Erin motivates me and inspires me every day. Not only did she show me that life is too short and too unpredictable, but that, honestly, everything’s going to be okay. My best friend’s waiting for me in the end.