Jill and I met in 1994, freshman year gym class. I was brand new. All the other kids were from local Catholic feeder schools. When the teacher sadistically instructed us to pick a partner during the very first day of class, the only two students left without a partner were Jill and me.<\/p>\n
But she said I couldn’t be her partner because she’d already partnered up with an invisible friend.<\/p>\n
It wasn’t a joke. She refused to be my partner.<\/p>\n
That’s how we became friends.<\/p>\n
On January 6th, 2022, Jill died suddenly in her sleep.<\/span><\/p>\n In the course of our friendship, we went to all sorts of places together. We saw the Liberty Bell together. She pointed at a painting of Benjamin Franklin and John Adams reading the Declaration of Independence as Thomas Jefferson looked on.\u00a0 She leaned over and said, “Hey, can I get your John Hancock on this?”<\/p>\n It’s still the funniest thing I’ve ever heard anyone say.<\/p>\n Jill found the cold, impersonal nature of the “have a good summer” yearbook signature perfect for birthday cards and books and basically anything she could write on and give to me. She gave me the same birthday card every year. It’s a plain white card with “Happy Birthday! I got you a card! This is the front.” The inside read, “This is the inside.” And on the back, “This is the back.” When I recently directed\u00a0a show, she came and brought me a card she made. “You directed a show! I got you a card. This is the front.”<\/p>\n Once, we were at the mall. Bath and Body Works had a seasonal candle with Elton John’s name on it. Jill picked it up, took the lid off, inhaled, then said to the sales associate, “This doesn’t smell anything like him.”<\/p>\n My heart is broken.<\/p>\n We had a running joke where we’d always ask each other, “are you mad at me?” We never were. Neither of us could remember a time we were ever in a fight.<\/p>\n When someone dies, their texts and messages don’t disappear. You can still see your ongoing conversation as if it could keep going. I sat in front of our open messenger chat and typed, “This time I really am mad at you.” I couldn’t send it. I don’t want her to think I’m really mad at her. It’s not her fault.<\/p>\n I don’t know how to be me without her.<\/p>\n We both made Spotify playlists about each other. Mine is titled, “Jill and Jen BFFs 4Eva” and she called hers, “IDK, my BFF Jen?” due to the fact that we constantly referenced that old cellphone commercial where the little girl is texting, “IDK, my BFF, Jill?” Both playlists have “our” song, “Little Wonders” by Rob Thomas, on them. They also both have liberal doses of the Spice Girls because they were our\u00a0thing.\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n We had thousands, maybe tens of thousands, probably millions of things that were our<\/em> thing.<\/p>\n There are more photos of Jill on the walls of my home than there are photos of my kids. To be fair, I’ve known Jill longer.<\/p>\n Once, we spent an entire day using MS Paint to draw “Ghost Frank” (he looks exactly how you’d imagine an MS Paint ghost to look) into photos with the Beach Boys. Ghost Frank is the fifth Beach Boy, no matter what John Stamos thinks. It’s just that nobody acknowledges Ghost Frank because he accused Brian Wilson of stealing his wallet. I tried to joke with Mr. Jen that I had to break the news to Ghost Frank and that he would be devastated. But Mr. Jen didn’t get it. Only Jill would get it.<\/p>\n Jill is gone.<\/p>\n Our jokes, our codes, the language of our friendship is a dead language now. Only one speaker is left and it is impossible to teach. It takes twenty-seven years to become fluent.<\/p>\n Jill is my best friend. Jill is gone.<\/p>\n I wrote this throughout the day yesterday after I got the call. I can’t decide who to be or how to be a Jenny who doesn’t have a Jill. So, I’m going to just run on autopilot. I’m going to work, I’m going to rehearsals, I’m going to consider whether or not I could sit through her funeral with dignity or if I can’t bear to think of a life where I’ve been to Jill’s funeral because Jill’s funeral was a thing that happened. But please, as you see me posting content here and over on Patreon, as you see me living my life as usual, please don’t think it’s because I don’t care about her. It’s just because I’m sleep-walking through life with a broken heart.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Jill and I met in 1994, freshman year gym class. I was brand new. All the other kids were from local Catholic feeder schools. When…<\/p>\n
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