Widow's Voice

Dear Boris, it’s the holiday season again.

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Dear Boris,

It’s the holiday season, which means a lot of things. It means everyone is feeling excited and cozy, and things feel busy and stressful. And I always loved the holidays until you died. And the holidays now have a sting. They might always hurt a little, even if the joy of the holidays is slowly happening for me a little more each year. The holiday season means holiday parties–which means, you aren’t here to go with me. The other night I went to a work-related party and I looked around the room and realized no one there had ever met you. Only two of the people even knew me before you died. That was weird. And then I felt this deep grief over the fact that you were not here to go with me. I wanted to show you off. I wanted people to experience your friendly personality and your ability to have a conversation about anything. I wanted to yell, “I had a boyfriend who was super smart and funny, and you would have all loved him but he is dead!” But I kept that little fact to myself. I try not to be that much a buzzkill. The holiday season also means my birthday. And that is always a little tough without you. I am in my 30s, Boris! I still can’t believe you are not here to do our 30s together. 

I will always miss you extra this time of year. I need you here to buy you Christmas gifts and to make you take photos in front of the tree. I need you here to help me be less sad about turning 32. I need you here to go to parties together and ring in the new year with a kiss. I need you here.

I love you.

-Victoria

About Victoria Helmly

My love story began in 2005 and though my love is no longer physically here with me, our story has not ended. I met Boris when we were 14, but it was not until our junior and senior year of high school that we became more than friends (he was my first kiss!). We went to the same college and although our relationship was a bit rocky through our early 20s, we made it through. He was my person. Our relationship grew stronger as we matured and learned about one another more as adults. I was certain that he was my forever. We talked about the future a lot and we knew we would get married, but we did not want to rush—he was still finishing graduate school and I was just starting my first full-time job. We did not realize how little time we had left together.

In the summer of 2017, Boris was hospitalized three times for active suicidal ideation. This was a heartbreaking, exhausting, and life-changing experience. After 10 months of therapy, medication, and support groups, Boris died by suicide on April 7, 2018. My life now has two parts: the one before April 7, 2018 and the one after. My very best friend, my person was now gone.

If you were to ask how I am doing now, 2.5 years later, I would say I am okay. I am living. My world continues to spin, and I continue to move forward. However, I still carry deep sorrow and loneliness. I have struggled with PTSD, anxiety, and depression. Sometimes I still cannot believe that he is actually gone. I still feel him with me, and I know that I will never stop loving and missing him.

I am currently in school for my Ph.D. and live just outside of Atlanta with our cat, Kitty Cat (Boris is responsible for the creative name). I work as a graduate research assistant currently, but I worked for three years with our State Unit on Aging prior to going back to school. I love movies, my friends and family, long walks, and traveling.