A diamond now in the sky

It's not until you lose someone you love that you realize how strong and resilient you are.

I'm fortunate enough that I had never experienced heartbreaking loss before June this year. But when death hit me, it hit hard. It took away my best friend, Rachel.

She was not only my best friend, but my creative counterpart, the other half of my heart and as we would often joke, the other half of my brain. I mean that literally: we began to write books together when we were about twenty years old, and it was our greatest shared joy for the past ten years. We penned five novels together in total, and trust me when I say that we poured sweat, blood and tears into those characters and stories, sometimes writing day and night for weeks on end. The task was especially difficult for her, but she rose to the challenge with remarkable determination.

Rachel was heavily disabled, being born into this world with a degenerative illness that rendered her muscles very weak. She never walked, and always had to have 24/7 care, since her movements were incredibly limited. To put it simply, she could only slightly move her head, forearms and hands, which thankfully allowed her to use a computer and type on a keyboard. She liked to joke that all her strength concentrated mostly in her tongue, for she was a real chatterbox. Her ease with words was multidisciplinary: she had an extraordinary talent for storytelling, whether verbal, or written, and the sharpest wit I've ever known anyone to have. This made her a great entertainer, as her sense of humor was quick, clever and unique.

When she fell ill in May 2021 and had to be admitted into hospital, I never thought I would not see her again.

I live in the UK, whilst she lived in France, which posed a big problem since covid-related issues made it frustratingly hard to travel. Moreover, knowing that hospitals weren't even allowing visitors at the time dissuaded me from attempting to fly there. Fortunately, we were able to interact via telephone a few times during her one-month stay, and the last time I spoke to her, she seemed... lighter. Her tone was filled with enthusiasm as she promised me that she would certainly be discharged very soon. She assured me that she had made good friends amongst the staff of nurses and carers who were looking after her, and that she had of course been promoting our books to each and every one of them. That still makes me laugh today because it truly encapsulates the person she was: an avid communicator and networker, always on the lookout for more people to entice and draw toward our "babies," as we used to call them.

Rachel and I had a thing about diamonds, and I think that is probably what prompted me to write about her when I read the premise of this challenge. We always gave code names to our stories before they were ready to have a real title, and our last one's was Like A Diamond. In another one of our books, one of our main characters—a witch—uses a diamond ring to amplify her powers. In a way, you could say that our stories were similar to diamonds, in that they began as a shapeless and rough idea, but held a hidden, secret beauty, which would only become apparent later through the "chipping" process: the art of improvisation. Whenever I wrote with Rachel, I felt alive, animated by the thrill of deliberate creation, and filled with a transcendental energy that can only be described as divine. Through our shared passion, we connected with our own authentic selves.

The part of us that is pure inspiration.

The part of us that does things because they are fun.

The part of us that knows that joy is found in the process, and that the end result is merely the cherry on top.

I am aware that I will probably not experience the same level of euphoria ever again. Although diamonds are everlasting, human life is not. When she left this planet, Rachel took a part of me with her, but I know I carry a part of her in me, too. She revealed and sublimed me, as much as I revealed and sublimed her. And when I feel the emptiness of her absence weigh on my soul, I need only remember that my heart is full.

My heart is full, for I have shared.

My heart is full, for I have created.

My heart is full, for I have loved.

To my beloved Rachel.