525,600 minutes.
It's been an entire year since Justin died. Definitely the hardest year of my life. I don't know what to say; I've accepted that he's gone, and that I can't do anything about it.
I'm trying to accept that it was an accident, that people die daily, that shit happens. I say trying, because I haven't gotten there yet.
Because I know that I will never be able to detach myself from this experience enough to describe it fully, I'll fall back on my old standby--- quotes.

On the subject of longing
From The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger
' "Do you ever miss him?" she asks me.
"Every day. Every minute."
"Every minute," she says. "Yes. It's that way, isn't it?" She turns to her side and burrows into the pillow.
"Good night, " I say, turning out the lamp. As I stand in the dark, looking down at Grandma in her bed, self-pity floods me as though I have been injected with it. It's that way, isn't it? Isn't it. ' (Niffenegger, 128).

And it is that way. Sometime, sitting in class I will feel like something is missing, and suddenly sit up with a start because I realize I wasn't thinking about him. I dream about him, I daydream about him, I worry about him, I remember him, and most of all I miss him. Three hundred sixty five days, 525,600 minutes of rememberance. I know that this is my cross to bear, but I am sometimes overcome with self-pity. My friends are always uncomfortable talking about it, my parents have all but forgotten, and I feel alone in my pain. Every Tuesday, for the past fifty-two Tuesdays, I have worn black clothing. Yesterday was my last Tuesday. I went out with a bang-- high-heeled boots, black dress and leggings. I think it was the first time more than one person had asked me why I was wearing black. "It's the anniversary of Justin's death," I said (not technically true, but close enough). 'Oh,' they would reply, and look away. It's moments like those that make me feel alone.
I know that I should give thanks that this is the hardest thing in my life, and I feel tremendous sympathy for Justin's family, who must be having an even harder time.

On death and memory
Also from The Time Traveler's Wife
'Today is the thirty-seventh anniversary of my mother's death. I have thought of her, longed for her, every day of those thirty-seven years, and my father has, I think, thought of her almost without stopping. If fervent memory could raise the dead, she would be our Eurydice, she would rise like Lady Lazarus from her stubborn death to solace us. But all all of our laments could not add a single second to her life, not one additional beat of the heart, nor a breath.' (Niffenegger, 499).

Is this wasted time? I can't raise the dead, I can't go back in time and change the last thing I said to him. Why do I cling to my memories? Everyone wants to be remembered after they're gone, but why?
I think part of the answer is that memories help remind you of what you should try to become. Justin was one of the nicest people I've ever met. Memories of him encourage me to reach out to others in a different way than I did before. His death also taught me (to be incredibly trite) that I need to enjoy life as much as possible right now. Maybe I needed that lesson, but I think I could have been a good person without ever having the world teach it to me.

On time
"How do you measure a year?" asks the song 'Seasons of Love."
"In daylights, in sunsets, in midnights, in cups of coffee, in inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife? [...]
How do you measure the life of a woman or a man?
In truth that she learned, in times that he cried? In bridges he burned, or the way that she died?"

My year has been measured with tears, with guilt, and with memory. I have thought of Justin almost without stopping. I have cried for him, I have cried for me. I have worn my memories down like a child burns out a favorite video.
I am terrified for the day when all my memories will have faded. Apparently, like archival video, the key is not to overplay remembrance. Because of this, I would trade anything I own for a way to preserve my memories. I guess that's part of what this blog is, a way to remember.

I had told myself that a year of mourning was enough, that I would figure things out, pull them back together, and go on with my life. I don't know why I set this restraint upon myself. After a year of thinking of someone nonstop, it is impossible to make a quick transition out of the memory mode.

One of the most horrible things I've learned this year is that after death, life does go on. Time doesn't stop, teachers continue demanding homework, birthdays come and go, graduation gets closer.
One of the reasons I always felt so close to Justin is that we were almost exactly the same age. Now, I've lived a year longer than he has. Next June, I'm going to receive a diploma, and then I'm going to leave my family to go to college. I hope Justin will be honored at his graduation, but I know that he will never leave his family. He's frozen in time, and the rest of us have to keep on living.

So Justin, here's to the 16 years you were here, and the 1 year I had to survive without you.