How Humans as a Species Are Incredibly Weird and Sentimental About Shit

My friend McKinzie died in a car crash, 3 years ago yesterday. She was 17 years old. She's buried in a cemetery tucked away off of a state route in rural Logan County, Ohio. Earlier today, I decided to pay her a visit. I've done this every single year since she died—at about noon, I drive myself to Burger King (she used to work in one, so it's only fitting), pick up some lunch, and I drive down to eat while I sit next to her grave.

It's a good way of catching up, as it were. I get to tell her about all the things that happened in the past year. She missed out on graduating, of course (she was a senior). My mom was diagnosed with and beat breast cancer. I got a job, and lost it over two years later through my own stupidity. I'm finally looking at going to college. I got a car, then my car broke down, then I got a slightly better car. My sister has a car too, and her driver's license.

I think doing something like this speaks some truth about how humans, as an entire species, gets incredibly specifically sentimental about such things like loss. It hurts every single day that she isn't here; she was one of those friends that could "light up a room with their smile", as it were. All of us humans are like that. We love to find the beauty in the little things. And sometimes, the little things are eating a cheeseburger and giving your lost friend some company.

This essay was written on November 8, 2023.