I have yet to make a post concerning the death of Chelsea Wilson. One year and 65 days has passed, and, for me, while the shock has subsided and I can persist weeks without shedding a tear for her, I still think about her every day. My dreams are no longer colored with the darkness of her death turned to life again, or the imminent feeling of knowing she will die soon. I still dream of her, but in my dreams she seems to be a normal, living and breathing person.
We shared hobbies, fears, and goals,
If I could take you through Chelsea's death and everything I know and have experienced with Chelsea, it would take ages. To me, she was just that one very very special friend that remains close and precious. It is a cliche, really, but I love her dearly. She was a tremendously popular and smart girl, but I know how lonely she truly was.
As for writing her eulogy, that came as keine große Problem. My words and feelings for her are abundant, and I only needed a 5 minute speech. What I most deeply felt was our childhood together. Yes, at the time of her death we were both 27 and seemingly closer than ever, but what I felt more profoundly than anything was our childhood and youth together. I remembered everything and felt our connection was extraordinary. Friends from the same block until the end.
I felt no anxiety about speaking in front of the crowd, only sadness and grief. Such a great, big grief that lasted and lasted. The day after her funeral, I maintain, was the worst day of my life. Before this funeral, I was full of worry but I was also anxious and could neither eat nor sleep. The plane ride from Frankfurt and the pick-up from Knoxville had to occur as well as the meetings with old friends and family that had also not occurred in years. The day after the funeral, however, I could not move. I could not function to put a t-shirt on my body or hang a piece of cloth within my closet. I was a bit hungover, but beyond that, the strength was gone knowing that my best friend in the world was truly dead.