March 5th, 2009 was your death, Jill. I can't stop listening to your voice on your phone message. I can't stop calling it and hearing you say "Hey thanks for calling, I'm not here at the moment, but if you please leave a message after the beep I will for sure call you back!". And then the beep would, beep.
I start to cry. I know you won't call me back, but I seem to somehow break out my voice in my hard nonbreathing cry, "I love you".
I am left with your voice on your phone, and pictures of me and you in the air on trampolines. We took the greatest pictures . . . well -- you did. We'd walk through a nature park and you used to say "I want to keep a picture of every moment I am happy," and then you'd laugh and say "Well, I am always happy. So come on let's take some pictures!"
Jill, if anything you were beautiful. You were the person who on my most bad day could just make everything better. You were seriously my sunshine on my rainy day. I loved you, you were my best friend. And as you also used to say, I was your cheese to your macaroni.
I remember our days holding hands and jumping into pools. I remember our days where we laughed so hard we couldn't breath. I remember our days when we'd drink chocolate milk and eat pretzels at a small baby picnic table. I remember our days running in the long fields of grass and rolling down the hills. I remember doing our hair for our very first dance in middle school. I remember every moment we spent together piratically from all of our pictures.
And even when our worlds seemed down, and even when you felt like giving up, you knew I would always love you.
No one will ever love you more than I do, Jill. Anything to make you smile, you are the ever-living ghost of what once was to be our friendship. Wherever you are, whatever you are doing, I hope you have peace. I'll see you someday again Jill.
So here I go to call your old phone again.
