You can't bribe the door on your way to the sky

I've been writing about some fairly painful memories lately relating to somebody that I used to know. I only know what I know of his story, which I believe is only very little. I know that there is plenty that I don't know. So I have been writing my interpretation of things... or what I think may have happened... or perhaps even what I want to have happened. It's fiction, but he's been the inspiration throughout. It's been fairly difficult for me to delve back into these memories. He passed away over 7 years ago now, but I'm not sure that I ever really gave myself permission to grieve. We'd known eachother almost 10 years by the time he'd passed, we had come in and out of eachother's lives over that time, once going around a year and half without speaking, but we always made our way back to eachother, keeping tabs as we promised we always would.
We imagined that one day, we would have our own families and lives and we would get our families together or meet up for dinner with our partners, and grow grey & old together but not together-together. We kind of had it all figured out, at 20 years old anyway.
Looking back on the memories and emails and photos has re-opened a wound inside of my chest that I hastily closed years ago, but I'm not sure that I ever actually really processed it. The fact that the story is pouring out of me like it has lived inside me, dormant, for many years is a sign to me that as painful as this is, as close to tears as I feel every day, as much as I want to close the chapter before it's done... shows me that I need to do this. I need to do it for myself, more than anyone or anything else.
And then today, sitting at my desk at work, trying not to think about all of this and focus on work, a ladybug crawled across my desk. I haven't seen a ladybug in years. Was it you, sending me a message from somewhere I couldn't possibly understand? I'll never know, of course. But I think it was. Thank you. I'll keep on going. I got this.