Dear Derril
Dear Derril,
It’s been one year since you’ve passed. Time really flies. I’d write you a handwritten letter, but you probably couldn’t read my handwriting anyway. But you would have given it your best shot, and we probably would’ve had a good laugh about it. Last year I talked with Adam about gathering when COVID had died down, and we could all have a real-life wake, reading letters we had all written you and then burning them so they could reach you. Newsflash: COVID has not died down yet. So things are pretty much the same with where they were last year. Except you’re not here. So that sucks.
I have so much I want to tell you. But let me start by telling you that I miss you. I imagine your dad told you this, but I sent you messages on your Whatsapp back in April. Your dad was the one who replied to me but to be honest I wasn’t expecting any response at all. It was a shock — but for a second, I had hoped that this year had been a very elaborate prank by some cosmic being. Unfortunately, it wasn’t.
I see your presence everywhere. I’ve been living in Bali for the past few months, and I keep thinking how you probably would’ve found a way to make it here and hang out. I think about how you’d fit so well at my office. I see you in crowds, dancing with the best of them. I see you in old photos and think about how we could’ve made new photos. I see you when I hang out with debate peeps like you’re sitting in one of the empty chairs, silently listening in on our jokes and conversations. Of course, that would be impossible — I can’t imagine you silently listening and not making some attempt to join in.
Sometimes, it’s hard to believe that you’re gone. It feels like you’re in another room, somewhere where you aren’t getting reception, but you’re still there, safe. I think that’s how I’ve tried to cope over the last year. Of course, professional help has helped a lot. But I think wrapping your head around the loss of someone you cared a lot about is another matter entirely.
My psychologist says that we don’t really heal grief — we grow around it. I guess that’s true. I thought I had dealt with it well, and then a few days ago I found myself in tears again talking to your sister about you. It’s not been easy — but then again, it’s not really meant to be easy, is it?
I think you’d be surprised at how much my life has changed. I’m not in the same relationship that I was in when you were still here — or in any relationship for that matter. I’ve had a few situationships here and there, but they were like a lighter flame — burning fast, dying fast. You remember how I’d always ask about how your love life was going? How I would live vicariously through your adventures? I miss that. I wish I could just live through your stories.
I’ve just listened to the last voice message you sent to me for my birthday. I wonder if you’d be proud of me or disappointed at me. I haven’t made a podcast in months, BUT I did help my office make a podcast so haven’t completely ditched that dream yet. I still take a lot of photos and I think I’m getting better at it? Maybe. I don’t know. The director dream….well that still exists, but it’s been a while since I last made anything. It’s been a while since I watched a serious movie. Sometimes I wonder if I can still consider myself passionate about film, or photography, or podcasts, or anything. A lot of the time, I just feel like a hollow shell. I’m sorry if that disappoints you.
I’m finding it harder and harder to write this letter, but I’ll push through. So enough about me. What about you? Have you met Boby yet? I’d imagine that you have. Send them my love.
Any philosophers/celebrities/singers that you’ve befriended yet? Gandhi, Martin Luther King Jr, or any other famous figures? Maybe you’re already a star of your own up there. I can only wonder how fun the parties must be up there. Do they say YODO instead of YOLO?
Every time I wish you were here, I think about how now you’re free of pain. You’re free of worry. You’re free from any worldly woes. And that makes me feel better.
Sometimes I think I’m the only one who hasn’t processed your passing in a good way. But I know that’s not true. I think most of the people you left are still grappling with it in one way or another. For me, the outlet is just writing.
Look at me, going on and on. If you were here, I would’ve spoken nonstop for hours. But I think you’ve heard enough from me for now.
I’d like you to know I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not reaching out more. I’m sorry for not being a better friend. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there. I still wish we could’ve went street food hunting, or go crazy in Bali, or do a road trip to Jogja.
There’s so many wishes I have. And I think that I still need to find a way to do them, because that’s probably what you would’ve wanted me to do. And so I will carry them out. Everything we said we’d do when you got better.
And I’m sure you’ll be there with me, some way, somehow.
I’ll talk to you next year bud. Hope you’re doing okay.
Your friend, forever and always
Haikal
Death is nothing at all.
It does not count.
I have only slipped away into the next room.
Nothing has happened.Everything remains exactly as it was.
I am I, and you are you,
and the old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged.
Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.-Henry Scott Holland
