We All Fall Down

A story of how one girl copes with the loss of her best friend

I had my hair wrapped around my curling iron, and I was singing along to whatever song was playing from my phone, when my phone started ringing. Really? Right now? I probably thought to myself, annoyed that my music got paused. I answered it though, because it was my mom, and unless I wanted to get in trouble, I needed to answer the phone.

“Hey, sweetie,” I heard my mom say through the phone, sounding mournful. “Rosie got in a car accident.” Rosie was my best friend in the whole world, and had been for years. I couldn’t believe something like this would happen to her. She was a good driver, and I always felt safe driving with her, unlike some of my other friends.

“What?” I asked, my mind trying to comprehend what I had just been told. “When? How did it happen? She’s a good driver!”

“It wasn’t her fault. She was walking home from work and got hit by a drunk driver. I’m so sorry this happened.”

“Well is she okay?” I asked, worry evident in my voice.

“We just got to the hospital, so we’re not sure yet. You should come here to see her, I’m sure she would love to see you,” she said, speaking carefully and with compassion.

“Okay, I’ll go get in the car now. I love you,” I said, running downstairs to grab my car keys.

“I love you, too. We’re all going to be okay. Just remember that,” she said, then hung up. I walk to my car, and everything feels strange. It feels like I’m disconnected from my emotions, like there is something separating them from me. I know what I was just told, and it’s horrible, yet I somehow can’t seem to see it happening to Rosie, so it doesn't feel real.

When I get to the hospital, it all becomes too real. I see her lying there, in the hospital bed, and all the emotions I was disconnected from crash over me like a wave. Tears stream down my face and I wipe them away as she turns to me.

“Courtney?” She asks, her voice sounding weak.

“Yeah, it’s me, Rosie,” I say, coming to sit by her. I hug her as best I can, and sit by her bed for hours, talking to her when she can.

After holding on for a couple of days, Rosie died. I was at the hospital when she died, so I guess at least I got to see her before she left us. I almost wished I hadn’t though, because the images of her lying sick in her hospital bed have tainted my image of the bright and energetic person she was. The memories of her in the hospital will haunt me forever. So she’s gone. And I’m back to feeling all numb. I know it happened, but I can’t seem to get it through my head that it happened. I feel like I’m watching a movie, or that it’s not Rosie. Not my best friend Rosie. No. It feels like I will call her tomorrow, and she’ll come over. We’ll bake cookies and watch movies and stay up too late talking.

For the next couple of days, I walked around in a bubble. People gave me their condolences, and every time, I didn’t know how to respond. My family checked in with me a lot, making sure I was doing okay, which was nice. But I still felt shocked, and I didn’t understand how Rosie was here one minute, and now she’s gone. But that bubble burst pretty fast.

“Hey, honey, how are you doing?” My mother asked, wrapping her arm around me. I pushed her arm off, and her forehead scrunched together in concern.

“How do you think I’m doing? My friend just got killed by some random drunk idiot, but I’m fine. How’s work going?” I asked angrily, getting progressively louder as I spoke.

“I know. That probably wasn’t very helpful, Court,” she asked, trying to look me in the eye, which I refused to do.

“No. It wasn’t. I don’t want to talk about it. At all. I’m not going to, and it’s not helpful to keep asking, because I won’t answer your stupid questions. And we can’t bring her back, so asking questions doesn’t help. Don’t talk to me about this again unless you found a way to bring her back,” I yelled, getting really close to her face.

“It’s clear you are not ready to talk right now, but I’ll be here if you want to,” my mom responded calmly, standing up and walking out of the room. Over the next couple of weeks, I yelled a lot at my mom, for seemingly no reason. I needed something to be angry at, because I couldn’t yell at the driver who killed my friend, and I couldn’t yell at Rosie for not being safe enough. I was arguing with my teachers about everything, and picking fights with my other friends, neither of which was like me. I was angry at the world, but there’s no way to fix what I was angry about, and so I continued to be mad.

My anger eventually faded, but then I had no shield. I no longer had a tough outer shell, and I couldn’t stop thinking about what Rosie had in store for her. Not just the big things, like the colleges she had gotten into, but the little things too, like what cute clothes she was going to buy when we went to the mall. We were planning to go a couple days after she got hit. I just wish we could have that day. We always had so much fun shopping. If I had just one more day, I could have told her how much I cared about her, and what an amazing friend she had been. But now I can never tell her that, unless I want to tell it to the slab of rock on her grave.

The next day, I got a text from my friend Lauren. It said, “Hey, we should go get some coffee sometime soon.” I texted her back that it sounded great, and we met up the next day.

“So how have you been feeling lately?” Lauren asked, after a bit of small talk.

“Okay. It’s hard though, because I miss her so bad,” I said, looking down at my hands grasping my coffee cup. “I just want one more day with her.”

“Well it’s unfair she was taken from us so soon. You should have gotten more time with her,” Lauren said, smiling sadly.

“She had so much more to do! She was only 17,” I said, shaking my head. We talked for a little while more, then went to go see a movie. It was a good fun way to get my mind off of everything for a minute. But it was good to talk to someone about Rosie, too.

Thinking about what Rosie could have done in her life was hard, but after a while, it became more than just a little difficult. I no longer knew how to deal with Rosie being gone. I felt like there was a big empty hole in me that I couldn’t fill. I missed my best friend so much, and I felt lonely, even when my other friends were around, (if I saw them, that is). See, I hadn’t been able to get myself to school all the time, because I couldn’t even get out of bed. My body felt like it weighed a million pounds, but inside I felt empty. For weeks, I dragged myself to school (when I could), skipped any extracurriculars, because I didn’t have the energy, and did a very mediocre job on any school work I had. I didn’t go out on the weekends, instead I stayed home and slept most of the day.

Other times, I would get very emotional. One day I was sitting in English class, and the teacher said something, and I started crying. Just sobbing in the middle of class. I ran out in the hall, and after a few moments, Ms. Anderson, my teacher came out.

“Hey, Courtney, is everything okay?” Ms. Anderson asked, gently. I just shook my head. “Do you want to talk about it?” I slowly lifted my head away from my hands and wiped the tears from my eyes. I then told her about what happened, and she told me how sorry she was.

“You can always come talk to me if you ever need anything. I’ll always be here to listen,” she said, rubbing my back. “Whenever you feel better, come join us in class. You can stay out here as long as you need to.” I stayed outside for the next ten minutes, but came back in. After school, I took Ms. Anderson up on her offer. We talked for awhile after school, and she said her uncle died when she was young, so she knows how I feel. It was nice not to feel so alone.

Over time, I started to feel better. After a couple weeks, I felt more at peace. I still missed Rosie like crazy, but I was okay. I was able to move on, and I started to like school again, and go back to the extracurriculars I had missed. Somehow, I faced the fact that my best friend was gone, and I could live through it.

A couple weeks later, I got a call from Rosie’s mom. She talked to me about how she’s glad we were friends, and how she misses Rosie so much. We talked about fun times Rosie and I had, and she told me funny stories from when Rosie was little, many of which I already knew. It was nice to talk and to remember Rosie and what a great person she was. It was hard, but once I was able to accept she was gone, it got easier to live my life. It won’t be the same, but I have to keep going and living my life. That’s the only way Rosie would want me to live.