In less than two months, it’ll be six years that she’s been gone.
I hate the thought that I’ll soon be 25 years old and she remains as her 18-year-old self, well, in my memories anyway.
Memories are a funny thing. While wasting time on Facebook than finish a job application I need to send out, I was trying to figure out a way (without converting to Timeline) to see my first wall post. I had a feeling it was from her. It was either her, or my high school prom date. Back when the wall was pretty much what it sounds like … a text box for anyone to come by and post on. Seriously! Anyone could have erased what you commented on your friend’s wall to replace it with their own words!
I don’t understand this wall natalia. It seems like anyone can just go on and erase what other people have written. I don’t understand facebook. See you soon. I LOVE THE CD! -kristin
The words above come straight from what appears to be my first wall post on Natalie’s wall. I signed my name because as I described, everyone’s wall comments appeared in one text box back in the old days … This was July of 2005.
Things I worry about when I over-think things slash get myself in a “bad place” include: I’ll die alone with no husband or children; I’ll be trapped at my current job forever; I’ll lose my job and never get a new one; My future children will
be ugly have no sense of humor …
Today it was: What will Natalie’s profile look like once Facebook forces everyone to convert to Timeline? She will never have a cover photo! — which is so unfair because she would have selected the most kick-ass photo (that she would have taken).
I don’t remember a lot of specifics from Natalie’s
memorial service Celebration of Life — too many tears to have an adequate memory — but I do recall someone mentioning that as time goes on, the pain of a loved one’s death lessens, just as a cut on one’s hand will heal and turn into a scar.
The scar appears from time to time on Facebook, or when I scroll past her name on my cellphone — yes, my phone is that old and I have issues deleting her number. The scar also is noticeable when Mates of State or Sondre Lerche play on my iTunes shuffle. Or, if I just see a cool graphic design on a sign. She was studying visual communication design.
I actually don’t think it’s fully a scar yet, more of a scab. I have to remember not to pick at the scab though because you know what happens when you pick at scabs … the wound reopens and it bleeds.
So, sometimes I want to cover the scab-to-be-scar with a Band-Aid so I don’t have to see it. So there is no potential for me to pick at it. But, at the same time, I don’t want to forget anything — even the memories of our first Facebook interaction.
Or this gem: Hi I’m Natalie, aka Deminem. I’m addicted to coffee because VCD is just that taxing. But what can I say? Its the life of an artistic genius. I like scruffy boys who share my design flaire and its a plus if you can sing in falsetto. But don’t be patronizing or I’ll kick your butt with my gymnastics-toned muscles. — Natalie’s Facebook status, June 2005
[I swear the 24-hour Disneyland adventure recap will be my next post. I promise!]