I talk about my heart a lot. I talk about how it works, and how it doesn’t and all the ways it is not typical. My heart is a special heart, it is it’s own little science experiment, my personal Frankenstein’s monster. People ask me about my heart a lot, they wonder about how it works, how it beats, the blood it pumps, the way it pumps it, how it sounds, what it looks like hooked up to all the wires inside my chest. They ask all these questions about my heart, the organ that sustains my life, but it is rare they dig in to that question. Currently my heart is broken. I am not talking about my physical heart, though yes, that one is broken too. I am talking about my metaphorical heart, the one that cares and loves and needs other people to make it content. A few months back it was shattered when suddenly I was faced with a world without one of my very favorite people in it, one of the ones who knew me and loved me best. The breaking was instant, the shock an explosion, the heartbreak more than I could have ever imagined.

I am not a cuddly person. No one would describe me as either touchy nor feely. I am an introvert. I like my space. I have crafted a bubble so big and well decorated I would never have reason to leave it. I am content in my bubble. Happy even. I was perfectly happy to live there in my bubble, with a few people allowed in from time to time, but no one ever invited to stay. Then in walked Nick and he took a pin to that bubble within moments. No bubbles allowed with him. He was a “Sorry, you’re rad, I’m rad, we’re best friends now.” kind of guy.  That was how it was going to be and that was how it was, from the moment that red headed riot walked in to my world there was a strict no bubble rule. If we were within 5 feet of each other we were hugging, or laughing, or talking about things that I am not sure either of us ever told anyone else on this planet. Our bond was a little different than all of my other friendships, there was a kind of unspoken rule that whatever we shared with each other was ours and not for public consumption. I’m not sure if it was because we only saw each other one week a year at camp, or if it was just because somewhere down deep our souls seemed to know each other, but it was like having a priest, a therapist and an insult comic for a best friend all at once. We were going to be there for each other, talk about everything, keep it honest, keep it between us, but we were also going to take any opportunity we had to bust the other one for being ridiculous, and I loved him for that.

The morning that Charlotte called me and told me that there had been an accident and Nick had suffered a gunshot to his head was the start of this period of time that has felt like it was moving in slow motion. I erupted in a screaming wail of a cry, the likes of which I hadn’t experienced since I was a child. I am normally able to stifle my emotions, hold them in, keep them to myself and process them on my own but this pain was too big, the shock was too overwhelming. Sweet Charlotte sat on the phone with me and comforted me as best she could while being extremely real with me. While he was technically still alive there wasn’t much hope that he would be able to survive this. I remember her telling me “But I am talking to a miracle, so I believe they happen every day” and that made me cry even harder.

It had been a year and a half since Nick and I’s tearful goodbye at camp. He was moving to Hawaii and I was convinced I would never see him again. Sadly this time my anxiety was correct, I would never see him in the flesh again. The last time we spent together we had one of the hardest and realest conversations of our friendship, we talked about that thing that we never really allowed ourselves to talk about, we talked about death, more specifically the likelihood of my death or that of one of the others at camp. Nick had been coming to heart camp for years, but he wasn’t a “heart kid” he was healthy, he just really loved us and even after the summer he volunteered for his confirmation hours, he wanted to come back, over and over again. He loved us, and he made us laugh, he grieved with us, I never thought about what it must be like to be the guy who didn’t have a time bomb in his chest, surrounded by people he loved deeply all with time bombs in theirs. I took him to Taco Bell after we ran a camp errand and the conversation turned serious. Another counselor wasn’t looking good that year, and we openly wondered if they would be with us in a years time. It was then that Nick told me how it felt to be the one who would likely outlive us all. It broke my heart. He cried. I hugged him. He pretended to be mad at me for making him love me so much. I assured him that I was going to live a very long time. I guess I wasn’t wrong about that. Here I still am. We couldn’t have possibly seen this plot twist coming.

In four days I go back to camp for the first time without Nick on this planet, there will be no texts, no phone calls, no FaceTime. If something is funny, or sad, or frustrating, he won’t be the one I tell it to and it is the worst feeling in the world. I miss him every day. He made me more “me” than I have ever been by being a safe place to be whoever that is. I don’t know if I ever will have that kind of friend again, and if I am honest, I am not sure I want to, I feel so lucky to have had the time I had, even if it was cut much too short. It feels greedy, and a little bit like a betrayal to hope for it again. Maybe one day, when the hurt isn’t quite so deep, and the grief so close to the surface, but for right now I am just happy to have ever had a friend like him at all. I hope you have a friend like him too.