It’s been a full decade since the worst day of my life: March 2, 2006, the day my best friend was killed in an automobile accident at the age of 23.

For reasons I can’t explain or perhaps wish to remain ignorant to, the pain of that day somehow feels worse now than it did the day it occurred. For years I’d always thought it would sort of fade or eventually go away.

Nope. I’ve actually become more mad about the day and its consequences every year since. My best explanation is that 10 years living without someone is even worse than 10 years of imagining living without someone. That’s about it.

I like to think even a sad post should end on something positive… so, yeah. I’ve made friends over the past 10 years. Even better, my two best friends actually live with me these days.

And the thing I always tell myself: my life sort of worked out anyway.

You know, despite being born with every advantage in the world.

As one given much, however, I am cursed with wanting everything, and some things you just can’t have. And that is why today’s anniversary is the worst.