Farewell, Level 99

I found out last night that one of my former girlfriends passed away just after Thanksgiving. I had not been in contact with her for a few years, so I had not known about her aggressive breast cancer. Her lifelong friend, who is handling her estate, found some of my stories on her bookshelf, and from there found my number in the phone book.

There is no grave for me to visit. She had her remains donated to the medical center. Whatever is left when they are done will be cremated and, as per her wishes, shot into space.

And even though we had fallen out of contact, the loss still wounds deeply. Part of me still loves her and always will. And I’m sad to know that now there is no chance to see her again in this life. The “I should haves” and “if onlys” all rise to the surface. The “somedays” and “maybes” crumble to dust.

One thing that anyone who knew her would remember is that she loved video games. She bought every console so she could play every RPG ever released on this continent. And usually by the time she finished a game, all of her characters were level 99 and the clock was maxed out at 99 hours, 59 minutes. Her friend told me that even in her last weeks, she was buying new releases, saying, “As long as I have games to finish, I have to stay alive.”

If only it had worked out that way.