A/N: The five stages of grief are denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance, something I googled after I wrote this. So if some places don't feel quite right, that's why. That said, this is another piece really close to my heart, so please keep that in mind as you read. 

1. Denial

You never see it coming until it happens.

And then one day, you wake up three hours early to a text from your mom telling you to check your email. She warns you to brace for the worse, and the minute you see the sender’s name, you know. You know exactly what is in the email.

So you cry before you open it. You allow the tears to well up, pushing down the fear that rises with it. It is better to be logical about this, you remind yourself. But that doesn’t stop the tears. But it is enough to open the email with.

And then you read, and it starts out innocently enough. It’s not harsh, or attacking, just simple truth for the most part. But you make it halfway through and you start bawling again. It’s too hard to make it through to the end. You aren’t ready to say goodbye; you aren’t ready to lose another friend.

You finish reading the email, bite back the urge to say, “okay,” and that is all. Your mom’s busy trying to comfort you, but she’s just making things worse because she doesn’t know what to say—she never has quite done it right in times like this.

You don’t know what to do, so you tell a friend. You cry over the phone, unable to understand where all this liquid is coming from. You change the subject, and then reread the email while he talks about his girlfriend.

You fight back the tears and the denial.

You think.

There’s a second email you read first, because you knew what was going to be in the first one.

2. Anger

Did you know?

Did you know that that would be the last thing we said to each other? Did you know we’d leave frustrated? Why didn’t you leave it on the good note, the good day because those are so far in between, and it would have been a good memory to leave it on.

Why did you have to leave it where I will always see my asking question:

“Are you mad or annoyed with me?”

“I’ll answer tomorrow.”

With this second train of thought comes the anger, and for an hour you scream into your pillow, you rant, you say exactly what is on your mind, things that aren’t true, anything to alleviate the pain.

 3. Bargaining

And then you get cold. You leave your dorm-room filled only with rage and anger and pain and hurt and sadness. You are barely dressed, your hair’s a mess, your shower shoes are breaking on your feet to where you can’t even walk in them, but you go get breakfast and eat ice cream you hate at 10am because you don’t know what else to do.

And you’re a mess, and you know it, but still you glare at anyone who comes within ten feet of you.

It’s not their fault. You know this.

But those walls around your heart look awfully tempting right now.

So now you want to go buy something. You want to distract yourself, attempt to fill that pain with things that you don’t really want.

CVS has four really ugly shades of nail polish for an exorbitant price, and you ask your friend which two you should buy. He tells you that you shouldn’t. You agree and buy overpriced acetone instead.

You’d buy more, but they didn’t have shower shoes.

You head back.

4. Depression

And on the way, the marching band is practicing in the square, banging away and celebrating and making a synchronous cacophony of noise. The school is filled with strangers, people here to cheer for your school. You ask them what they could be cheering for. You ask them how they can be happy.

But they can’t hear you over the noise.

You head back and you write, and you cry, and you write and cry some more. It’s rough, it’s messy, you shouldn’t do anything with it, but it helps. It helps to cry tears of ink. You remember an old story you wrote, so you pull it up and reread it.

It’s still badly written, but parts 1 and 2 hold new meaning now.

You’re crying again.

You force yourself to stop. To blow your nose. To wipe your face and concentrate. You reread the email before you respond.

And at the end, you want to attach this picture, but you refrain. 

The sender’s right. You know she is. There are many things you want to say, want to do, things you regret, but that’s no way to live.

You know what will happen, you’ve done this before. You’ll email back and forth for a little while, slowly growing farther apart and farther between. Days will go by, then months, then the next thing you know, you’ll be both miles and years apart.

You’ll miss her. You’ll miss her SO much.