Boris was outgoing, although introverted, and very friendly with everyone he met. His goofy personality and genuine care made him memorable and easy to be around. However, he didn’t have many really close friends. He was still close with some of his high school friends, but they’d grown apart with distance and life changes (one of them married with a baby). His closest friends at the time of his death were probably with women, some from church and from work. Some of them were friends we had in common and people we’d spend time with in a group. I think about this sometimes because when I am missing him, I often feel lonely in that feeling. My family talks about him, but it almost feels too close to express my grief. His parents do not talk about him, especially his mom, so I always hesitate to reach out to her. She has struggled with talking openly about him and her grief. In the months after his death, I would sometimes text his sister about missing him, but we are not super close. I still have some difficult feelings, mostly guilt, when it comes to her. I do get occasional messages from friends about things that remind them of Boris, which is always nice. People knew him well, but only parts of him. He kept some distance. Honestly, I guess I do that, too. Sometimes I read about other widow/ers getting together with their partner’s best friends or having them to lean on, and I feel jealous that I do not have that. Is that a weird thing to be jealous of? I think I was Boris’s closest friend, which of course I don’t mind, but sometimes I do wish I had someone else who knew him really, really well to talk to about him. Someone who knew him almost as much as I did.
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.