I’ve learned a lot so far in college, but one thing it hasn’t taught me yet is how to deal with the sudden, tragic loss of a friend and classmate. It was the end of spring break, with class set to resume the next day. I was home, getting ready to go to bed, when I checked Facebook and saw on the news what had happened. When I found out my friend had passed, it didn’t feel real. We had just talked the other day, and seeing the social media tributes start to trickle into my feed felt dystopian. They were someone I associated so strongly with a different version of my life — high school routines, shared classes, lab partners, inside jokes, skipping lunch and going for rides, and the kind of friendship that feels permanent because you see each other every day. Even though we went to different universities and didn’t talk as much as we once did, there was always this assumption that they were still there, still part of my world in some quiet, underlying way. Losing them made that distance feel a lot more final than it ever had before.
Right Place, right time, wrong reason
I remember standing in line at the wake, shifting my weight from one foot to the other, not really sure what to do with my hands, where to look, or who to talk to. The room felt both full and quiet at the same time, like everyone was holding something heavy but no one knew how to say it out loud. And then I started recognizing people. Faces I hadn’t seen since high school, people I used to talk to every day, study with, and ultimately walked the stage at graduation with — people who had slowly become strangers over time. Teachers who shaped us and brought us closer together, who I never thought I’d run into again. A chapter of my life that I thought had ended. We were all there for the same reason, all connected by the same person, in a painful unison, and yet it felt surreal that this was what brought us back into the same room.
Facing a PAst I thought I’d never return
Whether it was a friend, family member, or someone else you once knew, attending a funeral or wake is a harsh reality most of us have had to face or will face in our lifetimes. To me, it’s a sad yet beautiful reminder of the life that person once lived, and it brings closure and support to the family, showing that they impacted your life just as much as you impacted theirs.
It wasn’t just about saying goodbye — it was also about stepping back into a version of my life I hadn’t revisited in a long time. Conversations started awkwardly at first, the kind where you don’t know whether to hug or just say hi, where you fill the silence with “how have you been?”, “I’m sorry we have to see each other under these circumstances,” or “how’s school going?”, even though that question feels almost meaningless in the moment. But as the afternoon went on, something shifted. The awkwardness softened. People started sharing memories, laughing a little through the sadness, piecing together different versions of the same person we all knew in our own way and grew up with. Even the smallest moments meant the most to us.
Brought Together by what we all lost
As sad as it was, it was strangely comforting. There were people I hadn’t spoken to in nearly three years, but once we all entered that space, naturally, none of that distance seemed to matter. We were all grieving the same loss, and that felt like the glue that stuck us all back together into what we once were. It was like, for a moment, we all slipped back into something familiar — not in a way that erased time and memories, but in a way that reminded me of those friendships and how meaningful they were, even if our lives and careers pulled us all into different directions.
On the other hand, it was hard not to acknowledge how much we had all changed. We weren’t the same people we were in high school anymore. Everyone had their own lives, whether that meant new routines, going away to college, working full-time, or even having a new circle. The closeness we all once shared of being a “centaur” (my high school mascot) didn’t automatically come back, even though the emotions felt just as intense. It made me realize that grief isn’t just about bringing people together to honor someone we had all lost, but it also highlights how far apart we have grown. You can feel deeply connected to someone in that place and time but still know that things will never go back to the way they were.
What a loud loss quietly taught me
That night, I kept thinking about how easily friendships shift over time. It’s not something I would typically think of on a day-to-day basis, but given the situation, it really made me think deeply of how much I’ve grown and changed, along with past classmates. Unfortunately, my friend who passed will never get to experience seeing the change as well, but I like to think he was with us in spirit and laughing at all of us — which is exactly what he would’ve done if he was still here. In high school, it feels like the people around you will always be part of your life in the same way. But growing up changes things. College changes things. Work changes things. Distance changes things. And sometimes, you don’t realize just how much until you’re all standing in the same room again, brought together by something you wish had never happened.
What stayed with me the most wasn’t just the loss itself, but the way it reframed my relationships. It reminded me how much people can mean to you, even if you don’t talk every day anymore. It made me think about all the friendships that faded quietly — not because anything went wrong, but because life just kept moving and we simply couldn’t keep up. It also made me realize that something as simple as a “hello” can be taken for granted. I realized that those connections don’t fully disappear as well. They just exist in a different form, waiting to be remembered, or sometimes, unexpectedly revisited.
LEaving with more than just Grief
Leaving the wake felt just as surreal as arriving, if not worse. There were hugs, tears, friendly but sad smiles, and a few “we should catch up soon” comments that reminded me of the shared understanding that this moment — this reconnection — was tied to something deeply and tragically sad. I didn’t know what would happen after that, whether those conversations would spark old friendships or slowly fade again. But for one day, all of that didn’t really matter. What mattered the most was that we were all there, together, showing up for someone who had once been such a big part of our lives, knowing that he would’ve done the exact same.
As sad as it is, grief has a way of bringing people back to each other, even if only temporarily. It reminds you of who was there during certain chapters of your life and how those chapters shaped you. It reminds you to savor every moment, which can be easily forgotten. While it doesn’t erase distance or change the reality of where everyone is now, it creates a kind of unity that feels rare and honest; a unity that you don’t get to experience often. Losing my friend didn’t just bring back memories — it brought back people, too. And even though it was under the worst circumstances, it reminded me that those connections, no matter how distant, big, or small, still mattered and shaped me into who I am today.