The One Where I Grieve Chandler Bing

My heart shattered when he died

There are very few things in this life that I can say with full confidence. Like, real 100 percent certainty. For example, I still don’t know what I want to do with my life. I don’t know how people manage to drink water without spilling it on themselves. I don’t even know what half the settings on my microwave mean. But one thing I do know is this: Friends is my comfort show. And I have watched it at least five times. Actually probably six. Okay fine, maybe seven. But who’s counting?

Me. I am. I’m definitely counting.

There is something magical about a show where six people do absolutely nothing productive for ten seasons and somehow it never gets old. Like ever. Nothing major ever really happens. There’s no intense plot twist. No dragons. No explosions. No one gets stabbed in a dark alley. It’s literally just coffee, sarcasm, very questionable fashion choices, and the kind of friendship that makes you wonder why your group chat is full of dry texters who disappear for three weeks and then come back saying “sorry I’ve been offline.”

I started watching Friends at a time in my life when everything felt confusing. I wasn’t really sure who I was or what I wanted. Life felt kind of weird and grey. And then this random show came along with its weird apartment colors and slightly outdated jokes and suddenly I was laughing. Not fake ha-ha laughing. Like real, belly-laugh, throw-your-head-back-and-snort kind of laughing. And I just kept watching.

The thing about Friends is that it sneaks up on you. At first, you’re just watching casually. One or two episodes here and there. Next thing you know, it’s 2am and you’re emotionally invested in Ross and Rachel’s situationship. You start referring to episodes like “The One With The Prom Video” or “The One Where Ross Got High” like they’re actual historical events. Suddenly you’re quoting Chandler at random moments and your standards for friendship have been permanently altered by Joey’s “How you doin’?”

Every time I rewatch the show, it hits different. Like yes, it’s the same story, but somehow it always finds new ways to comfort me. There’s just something deeply soothing about the fact that no matter how chaotic life gets, Monica will still be cleaning something aggressively, Phoebe will still be singing badly in public, and Ross will still be yelling about his sandwich.

Each of them brings something to the group. Rachel with her growth arc. Joey with his heart of gold and brain of mashed potatoes. Phoebe with her strange childhood and even stranger metaphors. Ross with his chaos and fossil obsession. Monica with her type-A energy and unhealed middle child trauma. But Chandler. Chandler Bing. He has always been my favorite.

He’s the kind of character who makes you laugh so hard your stomach hurts, but also makes you want to give him a big hug and never let go. He jokes about everything, but you can tell he feels deeply. Like really deeply. He’s the one who tries to hold the group together when things are falling apart. He pretends to be fine all the time, but you can see through it. You can see how lonely he sometimes feels. How hard he tries to be enough. How much he wants to be loved, and how surprised he is when he actually is.

So when Matthew Perry died, it hit me harder than I expected. I don’t usually get emotional about celebrity deaths, but this one felt personal. Like a friend had left the group and wasn’t coming back. I remember sitting in my room just staring at my screen, scrolling through tributes and old clips, hearing his voice and thinking, “How can someone make you laugh for years and then just be… gone?”

It felt unfair. And sad. And strange. Because I didn’t know him. Not really. But it felt like I did. I had spent hours and hours with him. I knew his rhythm. His timing. The way he tilted his head when delivering a punchline. The way he said “Could I be wearing any more clothes?” with his whole body. The way his face would soften when Chandler was being serious for once. I knew those things. And now there’s just this huge silence where his voice used to be.

And still, I rewatch. Because that’s what you do with comfort shows. You go back to them when the world feels too loud. When your heart feels heavy. When your own life is a little too real and you just need to disappear into someone else’s life for twenty-two minutes.

So yes, I have watched Friends over and over again. And yes, I will watch it again. I’ll laugh at the same jokes. I’ll cry at the same scenes. I’ll yell at Ross again for cheating on Rachel. I’ll cheer for Monica and Chandler all over again. And I’ll always feel a little ache in my chest when Chandler walks into Central Perk, makes a sarcastic joke, and reminds me just how much joy one person can bring into the world.

Friends may not be perfect. It has its flaws. Some of the jokes have aged badly. Some of the plotlines are ridiculous. But somehow, none of that matters when I press play. Because when the theme song starts, when I hear “I’ll be there for you,” it feels like the show is speaking to me. Like it’s telling me, “Hey. Sit down. Breathe. You’re not alone.”

So here I am. Watching again. Crying. Laughing and Snacking at midnight while Joey eats a whole turkey. And even though I know how it all ends, even though I know they’ll turn in their keys and walk out of that apartment forever, it still feels like home.

Thanks for being there, Friends. And thank you, Matthew Perry. You were the funniest guy in the room, and somehow, also the one with the softest heart.

I miss you. A lot.

Dunsin💗

if you’ve watched friends let me know your favorite character (I don’t want to hear Ross) just kidding just kidding. Am I?