It was my friend’s birthday this weekend, but she wasn’t there to celebrate it. This will actually be the 6th birthday she’s missed, starting with her 20th. It’s safe to say our way of celebrating has changed.

To keep it short, my friend has been my friend my whole life, or pretty much all of it. My living memory goes back as far as she does. We were young when we met, as young as memories allow, and that’s how long I’ve known her.

Since my memory has solidified in my mind, we have celebrated together in some capacity. There has not been a year I haven’t told her it’s time to celebrate, and to celebrate her nonetheless.

But, like I said, she’s been gone for six years now, and we’ve, I’ve, learned to celebrate differently. Where there was good company, there is now an immeasurable distance. Where there was conversation, there is now only prayer.

So our celebrations are different, and I can’t even begin to imagine how she’s celebrating now. I hope she looks older; that there’s a universe where she’s still there and she looks older. I pray anyone at all is there to witness it.

Grief is funny because it disguises itself in so many ways. You don’t only find people in the places you most expect. You don’t just get reminded of the person or see something they like or do a double-take at an unfortunate doppelgänger; you hear them in your voice, in your thoughts. They are embedded in you, like all things are to some degree.

But even more so are these embedded things found in that state because there is something formative in the luxury of shared time. You bond, you become friends. In my case, I’d consider us to be sisters if not for our different parents.

In short, I’ve been thinking about grief, and I’ve been thinking of my friend, and I think about how interwoven this experience is. Not just grief, but all our relations as they come and as they depart. We are all united truly in the experience of shapelessness; despite our bodies, we mould one another.

I find myself feeling that way as more loved ones have passed and more birthdays have been missed. But I think there is legacy because there is change. If you think about it, there are fragments of the ancients wherever we go (and you really don't have to look very hard). But even more so, we carry these direct relationships with our loved ones that continue in one another. We mirror each other. So grief becomes a part of you, just a little.

I don’t want there to be a negative connotation with grief because it’s just one part of the human experience. It’s heavy and cruel, but there is something in the way of things that is infatuated with impermanence. We grieve because there is impermanence. We grieve because there is something bittersweet about the nature of our time on earth, where something’s finitude in turn makes it more precious.

So overall, this is to say I miss my friend, and grief is weird, but I cherish my memories a lot. I am still celebrating her on her birthday, however she chooses to arrive. Despite her absence, you’ll still find her anywhere. It is a beautiful thing that I can still find her.