My Buddy

That Saturday was a regular day for me: dance class in the morning, then a trip to Five Below. But, after dance class that morning, my life changed forever. We pulled into the parking lot, and my mom stopped me from getting out of the car. “I have some bad news,” she said. What went through my mind was that my great uncle had passed away, because just a few days prior, he had been admitted into the hospital for a stroke. So, I started preparing myself. I knew he was sick and wasn’t getting the proper care he needed. Instead, my mom told me that you passed, and I was instantly in disbelief. I said, “okay,” but I just wanted to get out of the car. She started asking questions like, “Do you need a hug?” and “Are you okay?” My response was, “I’m fine.” I went into the store to buy some candy and headphones.

We weren’t related, but you felt like family, and I loved you. You would babysit me, do my hair, buy me Disney movies, and we’d watch them together. I remember in 2011, when you were pregnant with your daughter, Madison Joi, and how you came over in the summer and how my mom threw you a baby shower. My mom and I tried to make a diaper cake, but we never did complete it. October 22 was the day Madison was born, and I was in school that day so I couldn’t be with you.

I babysat Madison for the first time in December during a party for you in my house. I remember being excited and nervous because that was the first time I watched a baby, but it was okay because everyone was downstairs, so there was always someone coming up and checking on us. She was so small, chubby, and soft. Her hair curly and short, and her thighs as thick as my forearm. She was pretty quiet and didn’t cry, which made me not as nervous. I wasn’t sure if she needed to be changed yet, but I still proceeded to do it, and it wasn’t bad.

I remember in 2012, we played the Wii together and enjoyed our favorite foods. My mom makes this great taco dip with perfectly seasoned ground beef, sour cream that holds everything together, pretty green lettuce, and an orange, yellow, and white taco blend cheese. We used Nacho Cheese Doritos to scoop it all up. I remember how you drank up all the pineapple pop we had and how my mom was yelling at me about how I left the cup on the table when it was really you that left it.

I remember our last encounter on March 29 through the next morning. It was probably 11 or 12 at night, and my mom said she was going to give you a ride and asked if I wanted to come along. I said yes because I hadn't seen you in a while. I hadn’t brought my chargers for my phone or iPod with me, because I expected to be back in the next 20 to 30 minutes or so. As we got to your job, I realized that you worked at Cleveland Clinic, which I thought was cool, because it's kind of close to where I live, and my mom works at University Hospital.

We pulled into the garage and parked across from your car, and when I saw you I said, “Buddy!! I missed you!!” We started talking about different things like your daughter and you asked me how school was going. Then, you and my mom started talking about your car and what was wrong with it. Maybe about an hour or two passed, and I remembered that there was a Dru Hill CD in the car, so I turned it on because I had gotten tired of not having music. I started singing to both of you, my buddy and my mom. I sang “Beauty,” “These Are The Times,” “How Deep Is Your Love,” and “Angel.” After the songs went off, we turned the radio on and “When Will I See You Smile Again” by Bell Biv Devoe was on, and that's one of the songs I always sing to my mom whenever when we're in the car. As the night grew colder, I started getting sleepy and fell asleep in the back seat. The next time I woke up was when we were picking up your daughter, and the next time after that was when we were dropping you off, and that was the last time I saw you until your funeral.

The week before your funeral, my mother and I came over to your mother's house with your friends to write the obituary together and pick out the pictures they wanted to use. It was nice being with your friends and their kids and Maddy. It was just not as great as it could have been with you there. Your friends and family wore pink for you at your funeral because that was your favorite color. I went out and bought a pretty dress. It was long with a see-through flower print and inside of it was a short solid pink slip that went down to my knee. The funeral was hard, because although I cried a little, I was still in disbelief that you were gone. Everyone looked nice in their pink dresses and outfits. That’s what made this funeral different from others that I had been to.

You didn't really look like yourself. I tried to tell you that I love you, buddy, but I started crying before I could finish. It hit me later one night that you were really gone, and I just couldn't stop crying. I cried myself to sleep that night thinking about you and how you were taken away too soon. I couldn’t stop thinking about the nights that Maddy would be without her mother. The nights that your mother would be without you, her daughter. And how your unborn child would never get to experience the beauty of life and know you and Madison. You were taken away from your mother, your daughter, and your unborn child. I couldn't and still can't imagine what Maddy is going through. I saw her and your mom five months ago, and they seem to be doing alright. They have their sad moments, but I understand it's a part of grieving. Today, I still wonder what you would have named your unborn child. I miss your beautiful smile, your beautiful dancing eyes, and your friendly, one of a kind, personality. I love you, Devina.