"I wore Spanx to your funeral."

That's the thought that keeps running through my head.

That, and "There's no way that you can actually be dead."

I can't even manage to think, "I can't believe she's gone". That's what I keep saying to everyone who asks me about you. But I don't believe it. I sat in your room & looked through pictures of us at fifteen & I just kept thinking that you were going to walk in. God, we were so much younger and so much more beautiful than I remembered.

People don't just drop dead at twenty-four.

Except when they do.

I'm more angry than I am sad. Because we had fifty more years of memories to make. Because we were supposed to get married. We were supposed to raise our babies together. We were Katy&Kaylee, Maverick&Goose, TomSawyer&HuckFinn.

Except Tom Sawyer shows up at the end of his own funeral, alive & well. That's not what happened last weekend.

On Saturday, Meagan & I sat in the Episcopalian church where I'd seen one of my best friends get confirmed the morning after junior prom. We were whispering, laughing, saying catty things about people we hadn't seen since graduation. A hush fell over the room. We turned around and simultaneously burst into tears as your brothers and friends brought in your casket. There was no time for my breathing to increase or my lower lip to quiver; I tried to sob as quietly as I could. Shouldn't we have been at your wedding? Shouldn't you have been sitting next to me? Or next to Taylor?

I don't know how long it's going to take me to believe this. I just know that it's hard. I know that I cry myself to sleep and that I don't want to get out of bed in the morning because if I do, I have to acknowledge that you died eight days ago.

I just know that for the foreseeable future, all we're asking each other is: "What now?"