A friend came over last night and said some things that I probably needed to hear.  I've never really been able to just sit down and have a conversation about depression with someone else who's afflicted.  I know that at least one, probably two, of his friends have committed suicide and he's gone through some other tough things.  In the past, I've always been told "Everything will be ok" but what he said last night could be summed up with "Everything will be ok…if you make it ok."  Nick is dead, and I cared for him.  What he did was not my fault and I know I couldn't have stopped him.  But two years later, I can realize that he wouldn't want me to cry; he'd want me to remember him fondly; maybe he'd even want to live vicariously through me.  I can honor his memory by striving to do what I want to do, by latching onto opportunities as they fly by.

I feel like I've half learned that lesson.  I realized how short life actually is.  I don't wait for a guy to kiss me anymore; I just go for it.  If someone's organizing a sea kayaking trip, you'd better believe my name is already on the list.  I'm already making plans to sky dive over the Great Barrier Reef within the next two years.  What I didn't learn, and what I am now working on, is that I can imagine it over and over, but nothing will bring him back.  There is no fantastical reincarnation where all of a sudden I find him in another body five years later and he's magically in the right age range.  There's no use to letting his memory, but not him, pull me down.

Of course, all of this is easier said than done.  Since learning this less than 24 hours ago, I have cried, I have cut, I have wanted to disappear.  But this is the first time I feel like maybe closure is right around the corner, that even though I've been held at bay, I can move on.  For once, it's a good feeling.