when a friend dies
notes on losing people way too soon.
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i really miss my dawg
I have lost many people in my life, but never had I lost a close friend. Not until Justin died. It is our birthday month, his two days before my own, and it’s hard not to cry for him. But it’s equally as hard not to dance for him, so I do. I dance for my friend who has now missed three birthdays here on this side.
In my mind, Justin is always dancing. Always laughing. Always very much him. Even in death, I see my friend as the eighteen-year-old he was when I first met him.
I see Clement Hall. And walks to college hill. And skating rinks. And rubberband chains. And biscuits from Flo’s. And air forces. And hookah. And black & milds. And bright smiles. And fly fits that can only be fly because it is 2008.
Even in death, I hold onto all these moments because I must hold onto him.
I just watched a video he sent Cherelle and me back in summer 2022 detailing his journey. I texted her, sharing how much I miss him, how funny he is. We were once a trio. Three parts of something that felt whole. It’s wild to think how many moments exist between then and now, almost eighteen years. Two people I met when I was still a teenager, carefully coming into myself as I always am.
Thirty-three is too young to die, but somehow, any age seems too young to die.
Cherelle and I were together this year for my birthday and Justin’s. That is a treat in itself. The days were spent laughing, eating, and bundling up because why was Miami so cold? We played we’re not really strangers and indulged in decadently full-fat ice cream and fresh-baked cookies.
We watched documentaries and Tiny Desk performances. We visited a museum and perused the gift shop for keepsakes. I cried over soup and coffee on the 19th at a cute cafe, because am I me if I’m not crying? The days were spent catching up as we always have. When I have times like this, the grief becomes more tolerable.
thinkin bout you
I was at home with Lennox when I found out about Justin’s death. I threw myself over my bed as I wept, my knees in prayer position, my upper half lying prostrate. I was a mess. And even when I was no longer a mess, my friend would still be gone. I don’t think one prayer was uttered that night, other than a mix of questions, wondering why?
Life continued and Lennox whimpered at my side to be walked, and so I did just that. And on that walk, there were so many signs. So much of him, Justin, in the sky. And though the tears still came, I felt comfort.
It’s been four years of The Saddie Baddie Grief Gathering. In that time, I’ve faced new losses, coming to learn what it means to talk openly with people about grief when I’m knee deep in active seasons of loss myself.
I find myself minimizing. rationalizing my emotions. slinking back from happy moments because sadness feels like a sacred portion. I find myself not at all practicing what I preach and treating my grief like the enemy when the true villain is the societally accepted avoidance or outright denial of it. Grief isn’t a puzzle to be solved; it is an experience to be had, even though it often feels like it’s having me.
question for reflection: In what ways do you minimize your grief? Why?
🧵This essay is part of a larger tapestry. Follow the threads to more reflections like this one:
I’m a creative nonfiction writer based in Mexico City, exploring death, loss, mental health, and addiction to help readers feel connected and less alone. I lead intentional grief spaces to support communities in living more intimately with loss.
📸cover photo by G Creates
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Mannnnn or the time the squirrel ran over his foot or the time the wind picked him up off the ground and bout blew him away or the time we got into it like brother and sister (again and again) or the time “damn you let (him) feel on the booty?” 🤣🤣 i miss my dawg frfr. I can see him on the stage getting his nubiance on right now. Love yall deep!
crying. i see you. thank you for writing this. what a beautiful human Justin is. thank you for sharing him with us.