Allysa and I met on the day we moved into the dorms our freshman year of college, and we lived together for four years. We grew from girls to young women together, and my friendships with Allysa and my four other roommates were as precious to me as my education. In fact, these friendships were an education; these were the years when I was figuring out who I was, and the six of us relied on one another to navigate our way into the grown up world.
I didn’t have close friends in high school, so Allysa was one of my first true girlfriends. She and my other roommates were the first and only people I lived with whom were not my family. But she became my family, and Allysa was the friend with whom I planned my future. We often took long walks in the neighborhood surrounding our campus, talking about our lives after college. We imagined what our marriages would be like, which careers we would choose, what our homes would be like. We talked about our future children, deciding on the perfect birth order/gender split as if we had the power to make it happen. I wanted a boy first and then a girl, and Allysa thought she might prefer to only have boys.
College ended, but the six of us made good on our pact of keeping in touch. While we were no longer involved in each other lives on a daily basis, the friendships endured.
Two years after graduation, Allysa was a bridesmaid in my wedding in May, and we all celebrated another roommate’s wedding in July. Two of us drove a few hours to spend the weekend with her in November. A little over a month later, my phone rang in the early morning hours on New Year’s Day. My dear friend had taken her own life. Allysa was 24 years old.
The loss was devastating, made bearable only by the support of my new husband and the four other women who were reeling from the same tragedy. I avoid revisiting those first few months of grief. I feel that focusing on the details of Allysa’s death and its aftermath of life would overshadow what I choose to remember: a bighearted, loyal and bright young woman whose friendship was an integral part of my life.
When my daughter was born — how I wished I could tell Allysa that having a girl first was just fine — I experienced the loss in a fresh way. She would never know my kids, and the world was denied the wonderful children I know Allysa would have raised. I mourned my friend all over again, and I grieved for her parents with a rawness that I didn’t know existed before I was a mother myself.
Allysa has been gone for 17 years. I don’t think about her every day, but I will remember her at unexpected times and a memory will make me smile. A song that she always sung with the wrong lyrics, her favorite color purple, a funny abbreviation she made up for a phrase or word. The friends that are in my life now – my other four roommates, the women I’ve met since becoming a mother – they are all so important to me, but they are friends of the person that I am now. Allysa was the friend of a different Dana, and I wonder how our friendship would have changed as time and life changed us. Allysa will always be young, and my friendship with her will always be one of two young women at the beginning of their life story. When I remember Allysa, I also remember the girl that I was – the girls we both were – sharing our dreams and planning our lives full of promise. Our friendship reminds me that this young woman, the one with all those plans and dreams, is still a part of who I am today.
My life isn’t exactly as we planned it, Allysa, but it’s pretty darn good. How I wish you were here to share it with me.
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Just cried while reading this and just so sad. I am so sorry Dana for that loss and can only imagine what you went through when it happened. That said time does help (I know this from losing family members and friends, too), but still you will always remember them and sometimes grieve a bit when you do. Thanks for sharing Dana.
You’re right, Janine – time does ease the grief. It pops up at unexpected times, but so do wonderful memories.
This story powerfully affected me. I had a high school friend who took her own life when we were in college. I still think about her often. All of us who knew her were left wondering about whether we could have done more to show her support or to realize that she was hurting this much. This type of loss leaves such a lasting impact on everyone left behind.
I’m sorry for the loss of your friend, Jessica. That wondering is so devastating for friends and family left mourning.
Thank you again for allowing me to share my story!
Love you Dane!!!
Love you back, Sue xoxo
So sorry for your loss. I am sure she is watching over you… hugs!!
Thank you Kate – I like to think that she is watching over me!
Dana, what beautiful words to honor your dear friend. Of course, I’m crying and am so very moved by this post. Wonderful job and I’m so very sorry for your loss. Suicide is so tragic. I wish everybody who was depressed enough to consider it would be able to see that life changes so much and whatever issues we’re facing today will not even be recognizable in just a few short years. Sigh.
Thanks, Kristi. It felt good to celebrate Allysa’s life and our friendship.
And this is why you won a Liebster. This is such a beautiful tribute to Allysa. I am sure that mourning your loss of this friendship makes you a better friend, mother and wife. Because you know how important it is to hold on an be there. I am so sorry for your loss, still fresh after 17 years.
You are so sweet, Kerri – thank you.
What a lovely tribute. My uncle took his life at 38 a few days after my 18th birthday… we found ‘card for Jessie’ written on his grocery list as we boxed up his belongings. I felt the same way when I realized my kids would never grow up to know and love him the way my siblings and I did, but we keep a few of his things around that they ask questions about that lead me to sharing good memories. Time has helped (it’s been almost 8 years) and I think of him often.
Thank you for sharing. I found you via Honest Mom.
Thanks for your kind words, Jessica. I’m sorry about your uncle; what a blow for your family. I share good memories about Allysa with my other roommates, and my kids ask about her when they see our wedding album and video.
Found your post on Honest Voices. I think sharing stories of loss is the most difficult thing a writer can do, and also the most therapeutic. You do it well, and you give your friend’s tragic death some purpose: To inspire others to love a little more deeply, and treasure the time we have with those we love.
Thank you so much, Harper. Loving more deeply – that’s something we all should do!
Dana, I am so thrilled that you are a part of the HerStories project- I love your writing so much and I am very grateful you shared this story with us.
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Stephanie, I don’t know if I would have written this without HerStories as an inspiration. Thanks so much to you and Jessica for the opportunity to tell the story of a friendship I will hold in my heart forever.
Dana, this is such a sweet and sad story. It’s not the same, but I lost my dad, who was my rock when I was 18. As I read your story I felt the same loss, that my Dad would never know my husband, my son, that I turned out OK. I get you…
Jen, I’m so sorry you lost your dad when you were so young. So many “will never knows” when someone we love leaves us too soon. Thanks for reading and always getting me 🙂
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What a touching and sad story!
I’ve lost a friend but not in the physical from you did but i still struggle with the loss and always asking myself, what could i have done?
That was something my roommates and I really struggled with, KG – what could we have done to prevent this tragedy? Only over time has that struggle lessened, but I don’t know if it will ever go away. Thanks for reading.
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