I’m still young, as it goes, though at the age of 26 I’m starting to edge out of “totally young” into “woa I’m actually kind of really an adult now” territory. Some of my friends are having babies and stuff. In fact I think I’m technically a step-aunt though I don’t even know the names of my step- nieces and nephews. I’m going to Hell, I know.
Now that I have some experience with friends dying, I’ve noticed I have a sort of pattern in which I criticise myself for being too sad. I think something along the lines of, “It’s not like she was your sister!”. Maybe I feel I don’t have the right to be so sad, or maybe that I’m being a little ridiculous.
Lexi wasn’t the closest friend of mine, but she was an actual friend. When I say that word — when I mean it, and am not just throwing the word around casually for linguistic convenience, it means something.
So, yes. Maybe I cry from the shock. Maybe I cry because too many young trans women are dying, and I know I could be next. (Lexi’s cause of death is unknown, but of course my mind jumps to trans-related possibilities). And perhaps I also cry a little bit more than I expected to, because Lexi was an actual friend. And maybe I should learn to appreciate actual friends a bit more, or, perhaps, to realise what my feelings are before a death makes them suddenly clear.
So here’s my few goodbye words to Lexi. You weren’t my sister, but you were really awesome and totally hot, and I wanted to spend more time with you, and maybe get a bit closer to you, if you wanted to.
Words fail at this point: I don’t have a lot of history between us to talk about, I don’t even know so much about Lexi’s life beyond the little bits we shared together. I just have a feeling. But it’s something.
Thanks for being here, Lexi.