Dear Kristin,

This is a letter that should have been written a long time ago. But I think you already know all that I’m about to say. You know it because that’s precisely how we knew one another: because we both just got it. It was palpable in the energy between us from the very beginning.

We all know that I’m not so great at making friends with girls, but you and I were fast friends—a rarity for me. I should have known you were going to make one hell of an impression on me.

It’s hard to know exactly what to say. I just went back and re-read the letter I wrote to you when I left Austin to move up here to Seattle. An excerpt:

“I expect you to fight the good fight when I leave here. You have to champion for all women to only date nice guys—not assholes. Maybe you could find a way to mass-produce a bunch of Mannys and we could market them. Hmmm. Ah, it’s probably not possible.”

When I wrote that line, about fighting the good fight, I in no way expected you to literally take me at my word. But you did, didn’t you? Not with the guys, but with something infinitely more precious: your very existence. Well met, my dear. Well met.

Kristin, this battle you fought was epic. It ended up being larger than you in the end. But can I tell you something? I’ve never seen such grace, such humor, such dignity, such elegance, or such determination in a human being. Literally. Ever. You will forever floor me. You amaze me.

I was just down in Austin last weekend and for part of the week. My company was gracious enough to send me down there for professional reasons. I unfortunately did not get to see Jason because I was literally working almost the entire time (love you, JJ), but I did see Libby, briefly, and it was a nice moment: we exchanged very few words, but we didn’t need to. It was enough just to see her face and to know how it was that we came to know each other: through you. I couldn’t help but think about you almost the entire time I was down there.

I went to many panels for the interactive part of SXSW. Some of the panels were great, and some were mediocre. My favorite panel, however, was a keynote speech by this fellow named Frank Warren, who founded this website, which I had never heard of until I sat down at the panel. You send him postcards with secrets on them, and he posts them. Which, as simple as it sounds, is a really incredible and intriguing concept. He talked about the “authenticity revolution” and about people having “rich interior lives.” And I kept wishing you were there with me, because everything he was saying was shit that we used to talk about, in some sense. Those two phrases are very powerful to me, and are especially prescient to me right now, tonight, as I write this goodbye letter to you.

Kristin, I want to thank you. I want to thank you from the depths of my soul, for being a completely authentic person, and for having such a terribly goddamn rich interior life, and for having the courage to share it with not only me, but with everyone that you knew and touched, in however large or small a way. I am honored that you let me be a part of your life, so honored. You’ve enriched my life in ways that I am still trying to understand.

So let’s get old school Kristin/Sarah for a minute. Today, I knew you were gone. I just knew. I stayed at work, and tried to work, late into the evening, but I knew something was different, and I tried to ignore it, because ultimately, I didn’t want it to be true. I was avoiding it. My mind was resisting it. Driving home, I realized how absolutely glorious the sky looked. Delightful (our word.) Heavenly. You know I am agnostic down to the core. I simply don’t know what happens when we die. But what I like to imagine, in spiritual terms, I guess, is that now you’re omniscient. Your body stopped working today, but Kristin has been released into the universe. Now the world really has you! Remember all of those talks about energy we used to have, ad nauseum? You’re like, totally putting it into practice right now! My heart grieves heavily tonight, and will for a long time moving forward. But I don’t think the connection we have, or the connections you ever had with anyone, will ever really die. You made such an impact on everyone you met. Can you ever really be gone from us? I don’t believe so.

So that’s it. My goodbye to you, sweetie. I am so earnestly and honestly going to miss the living hell out of you, but you are in my heart for good, and that fact will never change. I love you, KDawg. Always have and always will. And I hope, in some cosmic sense, these words, or at least, the sentiment behind them, will find a way of reaching you, somehow.

Namaste,

Yr Ever DiDi