The Fourth of July holds a special implication for me when it comes to Rachelle. It was the last night I saw her. I was at my best friend's house, and I'd asked Rachelle to come. And to bring my guy best friend. She did.
It was my first time grilling! I made burgers, and we ate in a happy chattering of food and conversation and soda and new memories and connections being made. We talked about Rachelle's upcoming mission trip to Honduras, where she'd fallen in love with the children and the complication of entering someone else's world.
At the end of the night, I walked her and my guy best friend out the door. I gave each of them a hug and told them I loved them. I hugged Rachelle extra tightly and told her "I love you" and we did what we always did, held our hands in a hand hug.
Rachelle told me to go inside, so I did. Before I shut the door, I looked back one more time and waved, with the happiest smile on my face.
And I'm mad.
I'm sad because I miss her so much.
I'm mad because she made a decision that makes me miss her this much.
And I'm grieved because I'm mad at her.
It's a complicated and emotional sort of day. I try to shake it off, and let myself just feel sad... and then I realize that it's fair to let myself feel whatever the hell I'm feeling. And 'cause I feel awful, I can only say it one way. I feel like shit. I feel like a horrible friend for being pissed at her, in the way that it sits in my gut. And how talking about it creates a knot in my throat, and makes me want to cry.