How to Mourn a Famous Friend

Recoil from the headline’s slap.

Scroll through all the phases of her face.

Dig up your own photographs. Decide the auspicious number means she died without pain.

Place your favorite – arms around each other, grinning like fools – on your body where it aches the most.

Hold her pet name for you under your tongue.

Thank her for the thing she said that changed your life

and for insisting you sit cross-legged on the floor together, your squirrel-brain racing, matching her breath to search for God.

Hope she found Him.

Find the Buddhist book she gave you that you never read and trace the jagged peaks of her scrawl.

Admit “saved” is more accurate than “changed.”

Pray they bury her in something fabulous, like the blue cloak she lent you for soul-dark nights

or the fur coat – a comeback gift from her manager – which disgusted you so much you could barely hug her. She said wearing it reminded her of triumph.