In Memoriam

My best friend passed away this afternoon.

When I think of A. and when I compare us two, I can't believe we managed to strike up such an awesome friendship. Because in so many respects we were the complete opposites. She'd wear leather boots and short skirts and have piercings (and a tattoo). For the better part of these 15 years I knew her she'd have fiery red hair but the latest fashion was to have 1/3 of her head shaved and the other 2/3 dyed black and green. She would drink beer and have boyfriends and listen to metal (my limit of listening to her music was about 10 seconds). She was the cool one, the one who would turn heads on a street. And I was the neat pastor's kid who had never done a stupid thing in her life and had never tasted beer and who listened to classical music. But we happened to study linguistics together in Tartu uni and somehow - I can't remember how - by the end of our first BA year, we had struck up a friendship. By the second year we were inseparable - and remained so until her dying breath. We made this awesome tandem at the uni, and we were brought together by similar work ethics (man, could we study hard!) and by mutual love for languages and linguistics. We both graduated from the MA studies with distinction, she continued and graduated from the PhD studies later, I became the infamous deserter (our professor never forgave me) and switched to theology. 

I remember sitting in a big and fancy uni hall with flowers in my hand, listening to her defence speech and seeing her earn her terminal degree, bursting with boundless pride. Dr A. J.!

She was amazingly smart and witty and loyal. We never called or messaged each other much, but whenever I was in Tartu, we would sit in our favourite cafe for endless hours; and time would lose all meaning. 

There are some people who become the fixed points, the landmarks in one's life. And so much of who you are is defined by these important relationships. A. was one of these 'fixed points' around which I could build my life. She helped me navigate and make sense of so much of what happened in life. So I am not only going to miss her terribly, I will also miss the relationship we had, and who I was in that particular friendship. That part of me is now lost, too, and it will never be restored. For example, A. was the only person to call me Mervikene sometimes. Now, -kene is a diminutive suffix in Estonian that conveys the meaning of utter tenderness; you would address or comfort a little child using -kene ending. In her very last message to me, that's what she called me. Now there is no-one left in the world to whom I am Mervikene, and that makes me cry bitter tears.

Without this 'fixed point' of A.'s friendship, I feel like I'm floating, drifting. I don't quite kow who I am. And I don't know how I will ever be able to brace life's storms without her support and witty comments. 

The Covid rules prevented me from seeing her in hospital but I was very lucky to be able to send her my last message of gratitude through her brother. He wrote me this evening and told me she had received my message just before she died. For this, I am eternally grateful.

Rest in peace and light, my dearest Anni. I will always love and miss you. 💔