Genevieve C. West

Calling Josh 5/23/2017 I picked up my phone to call Josh today. He would have known just what to say. He would have made me laugh. He would have called my husband and made him laugh too. He would have told us stories about his new life in a new place, and invite us to come visit him. He probably would have told an hour long story and then asked advice about a girl. He would have called me "G". Part of me can't believe that I forgot for a moment that he's gone. But I guess that's how it happens. Time changes things. But this new, fresh wave of missing him and mourning our friendship feels like I'm starting all over again. Like the grief scab has been picked off. I sat there with my phone in my hand. "Josh Baumann" on the screen. Ready to call him. Then the realization washed over me, and the agony was fresh again. All my breath forced itself out of me, like my lungs were trying to dry heave the grief out of my body.

I feel cheated. 4/27/2017 My heart is broken. My soul hurts. i still can't believe it's true. some days are easier than others. today has not been an easy day. I keep wanting to text him, forgetting for a moment that he's not there. I wonder how long I'll still pick up the phone to text him. I finally deleted the last text message I sent him today. It was the one where I was asking him if he was ok, because he wasn't answering his phone, hadn't returned Eric's message, and I saw some strange Facebook posts from his mom and niece. It hurt every time I scrolled past it. So now it's gone. No longer reminding me of the first moments when I feared that my friend was gone. I've been here before. I know I'm strong enough to survive this. But right now, today, it just doesn't feel like it. There's a hole inside of me. Some days it's easier to ignore that hole. But not today. Today the hole is swallowing me up. I

A writer needs to write 4/21/2017 Part of me is afraid. Im afraid that if I start writing again, really writing, that the floodgates will open and I won't be able to close them. That I'll be too overcome with emotion and grief that I won't be able to pull it together to function for my kids. This fear is not unfounded. I've experienced this sort of debilitating grief twice before. The first time was in 2003, when my 18 year old sister, Cassie Brown, was murdered. I covered my agony with anger for months. And once I started crying, I couldn't stop. The second time was when I was pregnant with our third child, Ellie. Third child, but fourth pregnancy. When we lost Hadassah around 12 weeks gestation, I distracted myself so that I wouldn't have to feel the loss of my baby. It wasn't until we become pregnant with Ellie six months later that it really hit me and I came to a halting stop while I mourned my baby that I will never meet here on earth.

My friend is dead. 4/21/2017 I can't remember meeting Josh. It feels like he just showed up in our living room one day, and had simply always been with us. Eric said we met him at a Church Home Community back when we were having people over every Tuesday for coffee and brownies to get to know the new folks at church. Back when we had a church home. But I just remember this tall kid with skinny legs and ankle socks, and a military haircut, with an easy smile and contagious laugh. He would sit in our recliner and when he would tell a story, he'd throw up his arms and legs animatedly, making the whole chair rock, and all of us laugh. Josh soon moved into the apartment upstairs from us with Ron, Eric's old roommate. They were family, in and out of our apartment like Joey and Chandler. When people leave Portland, we usually only stay connected on Facebook. But when Josh left Portland, he stayed family. He was still "Uncle Josh" to our kids. He