Recently, someone important to me died. I have two brothers, and they’re pretty good, as siblings go. But having Dyana in my life was what I imagined it would be like to have a sister. We lived together, went to school together, socialized together. When my favorite blouse went missing, I knew I could find it in her closet (or her bedroom floor, whichever). Side by side, we shopped for prom dresses and learned to drive. After college, we slowly grew apart, and ultimately I made the difficult decision that being her friend wasn’t healthy for me. But I never stopped loving her or the relationship that we once had. Because she was frequently in my thoughts, I occasionally stalked her on Facebook and asked mutual friends what she was up to. What none of this subterfuge told me, though, was that she was sick. On July 6 of this year, she passed away from an extended illness. Strangely, I had just made the decision to reach out to ...