In which panic becomes my new companion...

January 15th

Panic. I didn’t know this could be a response, but it is. From the first day, the panicked response of “No, this cannot be, we have to find some way to make this un-be, now” to today, there are moments when the panic rises to the part of my brain which has to do with action. I feel the urgent need to do something. But what, what can be done?

Then last night panic became knitted together with a very specific fear. Yesterday I had been reading over some of the many hundreds of e-mails we had exchanged—which mercifully I had never deleted—and they made me smile. Our extended e-conversations ran the gamut from serious discussions of matters like death and illness to ones which strayed into light-hearted ridiculousness. Reading the e-mail exchanges made yesterday afternoon and evening a little better.

But then last night just before going to bed the panic rose up and gripped me with its talons once again. What about the safety of the e-mails she sent me from her work e-mail address? What if her workplace deleted her e-mail account and all the e-mails went with it? I knew in the rational part of my brain that that is not how e-mail works; once the messages have arrived in my inbox, there they stay until I delete them or the account is shut down. But I couldn’t stop thinking that maybe I, with my limited understanding of technology, had not processed some basic principle of e-mail and our correspondence was somehow in danger. I begged B. to confirm for me that yes, the e-mails in my inbox were secure and would not disappear once her account was de-activated. Of course he said yes, but there was still the panicked thought, “Maybe I should call L. [a mutual friend who worked with K.B.] and ask her to look into this.”

The panic escalated. I had thought that the only times I had seen her after the minor surgery I had on short notice at the beginning of November were when she dropped by to pick up the port-tasting tickets we couldn’t use, when I saw her at the St. Andrew’s tea at the Vintage Tea Room on November 30^th, and when she stopped by to drop off the lemon curd, the last time I saw her. But there must have been another time, as I remember having a discussion with her in person about having seen a naturopathic doctor and talking with her about her thoughts on naturopathy. I saw the naturopath on Oct. 25^th. So when did I see her after that? I know I talked to her about my uncle’s death, which occurred on Nov. 26^th. But was that the same time, or just a phone call?

My datebook, which not infrequently does not include get-togethers with friends made on the spur of the moment, says nothing. The e-mail exchange says nothing. Perhaps I sent her one of my rare texts? I turned on the old cell phone. In one of my efforts to neaten up my text inbox, I had cleaned out most texts except for one each from each person who had previously texted me. The one remaining text from K.B. was from before Oct. 25^th. I nearly had a meltdown. How, how could I have so heartlessly deleted texts from her? Couldn’t I have foreseen that in the future they would have been hugely significant to me? I couldn’t.

Maybe she kept a datebook? Or did she write things on a calendar? Maybe I could get Chris to check once things have settled down for him. Maybe he could look in her phone to see if there are any remaining texts from me.

Needless to say, sleep was fitful last night.

Why does this bother me so much? Perhaps because history is my line of work and I have to know the history of our friendship. I am obsessed with needing to know these exact dates.

Neither do I have in my datebook the occasion when B. and I went over to her and Chris’ for a games get-together one Sunday afternoon. There was a Riders game playing on the TV in the living room; we could also hear the cannon going off at Taylor Field, which was close to their home. It was well before it was clear the Riders were going to be in the Grey Cup. I peruse the Riders’ schedule but I can’t work it out from that. Does B. have it in his datebook? Would Chris have the information somewhere? Fortunately our niece, who was also present, was able to confirm later that it was Sept. 1^st.

And then, the issue of when I last saw her. She dropped off the lemon curd at suppertime on a Sunday. I had no time to use it before we left on our Christmas trip. I thought maybe I could use it as a filling in a cake once we’d finished our travels. My last text to her, on Dec. 21^st, was to ask her how long the curd would be “good” if it were refrigerated. “About two weeks” was the response. My last text from her.

I brought the curd with us to Newfoundland and I remember we finally opened it—it was so fabulously good—at roughly the two and a half week mark. But when did we open it? My sister was still there, so it was before Jan. 1^st. I think it was a couple of days after Christmas. So does that mean I last saw her on Dec. 8^th? I think that makes the most sense.

Eventually I exhaust my friend panic with these mental gymnastics and the numbness returns (hello, friend numbness). But I know panic will be my regular companion for a long, long time. Today, after the Wednesday morning communion service at our church, at which special prayers were said for K.B. and her loved ones, B. said to me, “It gets better. It takes time.” What will this “better” look like? What will be the characteristics of this reality in which the absence of K.B. is an accepted fact?