I knew October would be a difficult month before it even started. However, I don’t think I could have ever conceived the way I would unravel as we traveled through time over these past three weeks. The sad part is, I know why it’s happening: it’s because my brain is desperately trying to do its job.

Since September 30, my brain has been constantly trying to piece together everything from those final three weeks of Emily’s life. I don’t know how to describe it, but the entire experience has felt like I’m trying to construct a puzzle by only looking at the boring cardboard colored backing of the pieces. It’s made it difficult to focus, and I’ve made some poor decisions. And yet, I can’t get my brain to stop because it’s wired to do exactly what it is doing and has been for weeks.

Wired For Preservation

I find everything about humanity and our existence fascinating. It’s because of this fascination that I know what I know about how our brains are wired to operate. And, at the end of the day, our brains are designed to keep us safe.

Our brains learn to quickly identify objects, people, and other living things. They constantly seek answers and explanations as to why things happen so they can either replicate or avoid in the future. They even store memories based on emotion so you can recall how you handled previous times when you felt the same way.

It’s all for self preservation.

But This Was Uncharted Territory

There’s no denying that everything Emily went through in 2017 was its own form of trauma. I think if any of us went from being what we thought was a perfectly healthy person in our early 20s to undergoing multiple heart surgeries in a year’s time, we’d be forever changed. And, although she tried her best to hide it on the surface, Emily was changed.

I received many panicked texts and calls throughout the duration of our friendship and relationship, each involving a minor symptom that, in rare circumstances, could relate to her heart. In fact, I once ran out of my apartment just after I had finished heating up leftovers for dinner because Emily’s resting heart rate was in the 140s. I stayed by her side for most of those few days in the hospital and only left when her college bestie came to check in.

But, honestly? I think there was enough uniqueness with what was happening during those final two weeks that (for once) Emily didn’t necessarily think it was her heart failing again. Or, if she did, she hid it very well.

Blame Provides an Answer

For me, most of this past year has been this chaotic mix of trying to understand what happened while also forcing myself to continue living life as if what happened didn’t actually happen at all. It’s come with its fair share of ebbs and flows… but the past few weeks have been this massive blow I could never fully imagine.

My mind has hyperfocused on last year. I keep replaying memories, looking through photographs, and reading text messages, all with the hope of finding some sort of “ah ha!” moment that can pinpoint exactly when Emily’s condition started rapidly declining.

But here’s the thing: it never seemed like tragedy was waiting around the corner until it was too late.

Therefore, the best my brain can come up with is a list of moments when I could have made different choices. I can’t definitively say if any of those choices would have led to better outcomes, but man, my brain has made me acutely aware of all the places I screwed up during those final weeks.

I also can’t help but question so many other things and looking for other places to blame myself for Emily’s death. Part of that is the fact that I was conditioned to blame myself for everything. Then there’s the fact that I just feel like it was my job to protect her, and I failed miserably.

It’s funny, because people keep saying that it isn’t my fault. And yet, for my brain, blaming myself is better than saying there’s no logical answer here. At least when I blame myself, it provides an answer to something that, in reality, makes zero sense at all.

At the end of the day, though, her death will never make sense. And neither will mine.