Katy Gillan: This post needs a better title, but I don’t have one

katy gillan

Amber asked me if I still had this memorial for Katy. I thought that I would post it in case anyone else wanted to bookmark it or, I don’t know, something. I hadn’t read through it in years, maybe six or so. Most of the entries are riddled with grammatical errors (worse than usual; that’s saying something).

I want to keep them.

Changing them would change the substance. That voice that is speaking to you in my writing, it’s me, but it’s not-me. It’s little Jolene, or Jolene when she was littler. I don’t have the same beliefs anymore. It’s me; it’s not-me. Strange.

I was thinking about the grammar one moment, the words, the voice, about how it’s me-not-me. And then I was thinking about Katy and all the words she never… If it’s not-me writing, is it a not-Katy too? Am I remembering a not-Katy? I bet I am. I bet that she is different than the Katy that you remember. Memory is funny like that. I know that now, or I think I know that. That’s what 9 years of school tells me about memory, anyways.

So now I am thinking of all the not-Katy’s. And I miss them all. I miss the one that you remember, even though I never knew her the way you did. I wish that I had the chance to.

Can there be a real not-Katy? A not-Katy like I am a not-me? A Katy that grew up and doesn’t think the same things anymore? A Katy that I lost touch with? A Katy that Jolene does not get all sentimental and stupid about?

I wish there could.

But then she would be a not-Katy. And I don’t know the not-Katy. But I still miss her. That’s kind of strange to think about. When someone dies, you don’t just miss all the things that they were, you miss all the things that they weren’t. I mean, I miss all the things that she could have been, or was but I never realized.
And it’s funny because I will be 30 soon, and it seems that each year my life is filled with more and more not-people. What a horrible term. I don’t mean it to be horrible though. It just sounds horrible. And I can’t define it, not really. But I look ahead, and assuming that I live long enough, it seems like my life will eventually be filled with a bunch of not-things. Of misremembered halftruths, or feelings and nothing more. Of glimpses.

I remember making a movie with Katy. I don’t remember what it was about. But I still have the movie. My dad made it into a DVD. He made all our home movies into DVDs. I could watch it, and then I would remember. But then what would that Katy be? Does it matter? Probably not. But it means a lot that I don’t change what I wrote on that memorial site, because it’s real. But the video is real too, except I don’t want to watch it because I feel like we didn’t make it so that I could watch it 16 years down the road once she is gone.

Isn’t it stupid to get caught up on something like that?

Tomorrow, it will be 11 years since Katy died. I don’t know what I remember about her. I mean, I don’t know what I forgot about her. I have some idea, because I read through that silly page that I made, and I don’t understand half of the inside jokes that I am taking about. What will I remember in about 11 years? Is my life going to be filled with a bunch of moments where I try to remember people that I … well, anyways, I guess I just wanted to throw my thoughts out there into the ether so that I would be able to look back and remember what I was or what she was or something. I think I did that.

These grammatical errors won’t be changed either.

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