No Closure

My phone rings.

It’s Dad calling… he doesn’t usually call me. So, I answer.

“Hey, Dad, what’s up?”

“Yeah, so… Scotty won’t be bothering you anymore… He passed away.”

Dad always had a strange way of breaking awful news to me — Funny, casual, almost excited. It certainly made the pain hit differently.

I couldn’t believe it. My heart sank. My schemas instantly tried to protect me — this couldn’t be true. Not a chance. How? Why?

Thoughts and questions flooded my mind.

Denial wrapped me in its warmth.

This couldn’t be goodbye.

Scotty was one of the most loyal friends anyone could ask for. He had a heart of gold and a humour that could leave you nearly passed out with laughter on the floor.

But towards the end… it got too much for me.

The constant phone calls, the daily messages, the unrelenting requests to catch up — it overwhelmed me.

I always tried to make time to see him. And when we did, it was amazing — some of the best memories of my life.

He had been in my life for fifteen years.  A friendship that came in waves — with times of regular catchups, and seasons where life just got too busy to stay in touch.

Eventually, I began to struggle with kids, work, and mental health. I had nothing left to give.

I needed some space.

And even though Scotty was a wonderful guy, I didn’t have the capacity to juggle friendships, too.

He kept calling.

Kept messaging.

He even reached out to my family to ask about me.

In the end, I had to block him.

Not because I hated him. That was never the case.

It was just for long enough to let me breathe. To get my life back on track. I always planned to reconnect when things felt calm again.

That was the plan…

Until it wasn’t.

I remember the moment when that realisation hit me —

That I’d never get the chance to say sorry.

That we'd never catch up for one last laugh.

The overthinking came with a deep agonising thought that clenched in my stomach: the thought that he might have died believing I was angry or upset with him.

How could I ever live with that?

I hated myself for waiting too long.

Why didn't I reach out sooner?

Why did I have to be so selfish?

I started to believe that this was my punishment — my selfishness that led me to be repaid with this pain. The pain of guilt.

I was crushed by it.

At night, I would dream of Scotty — I’d be at his funeral, and he’d suddenly wake up, pretending to be dead as some kind of silly joke.

I’d fall asleep imagining conversations with him — talking to him in my mind and apologizing to him profusely.  I imagined he’d talk back to me with understanding and kindness.  Which is something he would have done.

But day after day, the truth crept in.

He was gone.

My mind fought to protect me with lies.

He’s just doing his own thing.

You weren’t catching up anyway — it’s not that different.

You’ll see him again soon.

Then came his funeral.

I saw his family. His friends. All mourning.

It hit me. The crushing weight of grief.

There was no more pretending.

This was real.

No second chance.

No restart.

No “I’m sorry.”

Just silence.

Just emptiness.

I walked up to his coffin, and gently placed my hand on the closed casket, and cried.

And even then, with my hand on the glossy wood, knowing full well that he was inside…

My mind whispered, “He’s not really in there.”

I still live in denial to this day.

Some days, I tell myself life’s just too busy right now, and I’ll message him when things settle.

I still pretend it’s possible.

And even though it’s literally impossible,

My mind still protects me,

and softly lies:

“You’ll see him again.”