Widow's Voice

The World’s Loss

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Sometimes I get sad for other people’s loss of Boris. Not only people he knew but also the people who never got to meet him. At times this grief feels worse than my own even though I know it isn’t. Boris was so many things to so many people. And then there are the people who never got to know him. And, boy, are they missing out. Why did the Earth lose such a gem? He only had 27 years to touch people’s lives. It isn’t fair.

Boris was a son. His mom and dad lost their only son. The person they saw grow and change and move off to college. I am not a parent, so I do not know firsthand the depth of this love, but I know they loved him and his sister more than anything. And now he is gone. They will never get to see him even turn 30. Sometimes the thought of this loss feels too overwhelming to even fathom.

Boris was a brother. He and his sister were close in age and shared similar interests and some mutual friends. She saw him through every phase. She watched him change interests and go through hard times and experience ups and downs. She no longer has a brother. She is now an only child. The weight of that feels devastatingly cruel.

Boris was student. He had professors and mentors. He had classmates. People who learned from him. People who watched him grow and find his passion. Suddenly, that person was gone from their lives.

Boris was a friend. He made his friends laugh. He showed interest in their experiences and their lives. He asked them questions and challenged their thinking. He argued. He sent great memes. He forgot to text people back, but was genuinely sorry. He filled rooms with warmth. He introduced people to new music, podcasts, and ideas. And they woke up one day to learn they’d never see their friend again. They’d never hear his infectious laugh again. They would never get another funny meme from him.

Boris was a pharmacy technician. He made customers smile. He took care of them. He took his job seriously. He wanted to learn and grow in his job. And then he was gone. He never came back to work. His coworkers and bosses did not know that the last time they saw him would be the last time they ever saw him.

Boris was a friend to animals, especially our cat. Sometimes I get stuck in my thoughts about how he never returned home. Our cat saw him that morning and then never saw him again. He never came home to her. All of the animals he loved never got another ear scratch or kiss on the head from Boris.

And, Boris was so much more. He was a musician, a gamer, a volunteer, a nephew, a grandson, a cousin, a roommate, a neighbor, a customer, a patient, and a client. Every person who once saw him regularly or experienced his warmth and smile will forever miss him. It is such a tragedy that he is gone.

So many people never got to experience his laugh or the way he made you see things from a different perspective. They didn’t get to be infuriated by him and adore him at the same time. What new roles would he have been by now? Who would he have met by now? What kind of change would he have made in others’ lives?

I want to end this entry right now because that is it. There is nothing uplifting about the fact that so many people are missing Boris. So many people are still reeling from his sudden exit from this Earth. So many people’s lives are forever changed. There is no silver lining. But, I will say that because I cannot change what has happened, I can try to at least carry him into everything that I do for the rest of my life. I can at least try to introduce him to others who never met him. I can tip waitstaff a little extra. I can challenge people’s viewpoints. I can save a spider in my house instead of killing it. I can appreciate music a little more. I can love on every animal. I can be there for his family. I can be there for his friends. I can share stories and reminisce.

I am so sorry that the world lost Boris. To every person he knew and every person he never knew, I am so sorry. I cannot change the fact that he is gone, but I can try to bring a tiny bit of his light with me wherever I go and I hope everyone else will do the same.

xo

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.