To a self-proclaimed "Fat Asshole"

Today was a rough day, but not as bad as I expected and undoubtably not as bad as tomorrow will be. One year ago today, October 5, Jimmy Krasely, the first friend I made here at Temple died. He is dead- funny how that works. I guess don't really know what this one year mark really means. Of course, I'll always think about him a lot at this time of year, but I think about him a lot all the time. I will say that the year went fast. Here's some of what my journal entry from one year ago today said:

"It feels totally unreal. When Mollie started to tell me I knew what she was going to say when she asked if I'd heard about Jimmy. I asked what she meant even though of course I knew. I didn't know what else to say."

I remember her face so vividly. I hadn't heard anything until she told me, but her face said it all. I didn't really have to ask, and I knew I sounded dumb.

"Jimmy will be okay, he's always doing stupid things, but he's okay. I can just tell him he's stupid and to be more careful and he'll tell me that I'm straight edge."

"I wish I could speak for him. To tell-who? The world? Fate? Death? God?- that they don't need to worry about Jimmy. He doesn't mean anything by it, he's just a kid. He needs a few more chances, but he's okay. He's screwing around, but it's just Jimmy. Get it?!?!?!? That's Jimmy, he can do stupid stuff and be okay, that's who he is! Listen! He'll be okay, he'll figure it out, just be patient with him. Leave him alone. He's too important!"

I'm still overwhelmed when I think about his worth in this world.

"Jimmy was my first real friend in college. I was walking by his room and he called out to me. We talked and he thought I was weird and I loved that finally someone saw me. Someone was really getting to know me. We went to that concert. We went to South Street. I asked him if Mike was a creep or rapist. I sat in the hall and talked about life with him. About infidelity, the future, socialism (a resource based economy). He made everyone laugh. He made me feel like I mattered. Even if I wasn't cool, I still belonged because no one is cool. Even guys like Jimmy who played football and smoked weed and partied and listened to cool music were nerds too."

I remember going up to him and asking him about our friend Mike who I met at the same time as Jimmy. I remember saying, "If you're lying to me and something bad happens to me, you're going to feel really bad, so you better just think about that." God I was lame.

The first day I met Jimmy he said to me, "You're a cynical bitch." And I remember thinking, finally someone here gets me. Someone here cares. That someone was Jimmy.

"It sucks that no matter what I do, we do, he won't know," I wrote. "He won't know what we're all feeling. He won't know how many people go to his funeral or join his facebook groups. He won't know how much he meant to me."

I learned a lot from Jimmy, and still am learning. One thing that sticks out that I learned from losing Jimmy was something Ruth Ost said. She said that when someone dies, everyone feels an ownership on a piece of the grief pie. I think that's true and important. I know that many people were much closer to Jimmy than I was. Many people knew him for longer and knew him better. Jimmy was a unique person because anyone who met him, even briefly, would mourn him greatly. He gave of himself freely.

You remember what that lantern I sent you said, Jimmy? It's still true. (Also, please don't think I'm a bad friend, but that Beatles poster you gave me got wet and ruined. I don't think you'd mind because you thought Ringo was too ugly to look at anyway. I still have part of it. I wish I had our post-it notes.)