I can’t help but wonder what went through your mind in those last few seconds. Were you scared? Did you regret it? Did you panic, even just a little? How did your soul, who has only ever known life, find comfort in death? Had you marked that Monday in your mind? I can’t help but wish you had understood what you meant to those you left behind. As my mama always told you, “You have what it takes.” I’m sorry your own mama didn’t believe that. I just know that you would’ve still been here.

I kept seeing streaks of blonde dye out of the corner of my eye- but not where you laid. You stood in social circles as if they weren’t gathered because you weren’t there. You had energy, but were so laid back at the same time. That was you. You affirmed my inability to accept that you were gone by presenting yourself with life. I felt comforted then. With a slight turn of my head oriented to where you stood, you were nowhere to be found. I figured you had moved on to a different circle. I went back to my seat, helplessly fixing my gaze upon where you physically lie, lifeless. I had to tell myself you were just sleeping. You would wake up soon and when you did, I would turn my head to see you physically standing there nonchalantly, with that smile I saw in those circles from earlier. But instead, I sat rows back from you paralyzed in disbelief. The kid that made my sister’s laughter echo throughout our house wasn’t going to wake up. You weren’t sleeping. I never saw you in the room. But I will forever be convinced, even now after weeks of accepting your departure, that you were.

In the days following the phone call I received that Monday prior to your funeral, every time I would eat something (or try to in the midst of my sorrow and absolute disbelief), I felt immense guilt because you couldn’t anymore. When I would try to distract myself with comical YouTube videos to make myself laugh, all I could think about was how funny you were, but couldn’t share that gift anymore. I hated that you leaving affected me so hard. While I wasn’t even terribly close to you, if at all, I got the privilege of watching you grow up for the last 12 years, as did you to me. You touched my heart through the home that my sister found in you, and each of the other friends you both shared. You just had something so special about you. I’m sorry that this world didn’t emphasize that to you enough. I can’t help but believe that if it had, you in turn would’ve understood just how special your life was.

In all of my distress trying to find any peace in a world without you, you left me with an appreciation and value for life that I never thought I could fully understand or possess. I thank God when I wake up now- every morning. Every meal that I eat, every person I engage with (even for a brief moment), every dream I dream, every step I take, every sunset I watch go down and every sunrise I watch come up, every breath I breathe, and every song I sing, I do with an immensely deep, overflowing love for the gift of life and all of its sanctity. You deserved that. You deserved a mother that not only gave you life, but nurtured you in a way that deemed it worthy of keeping. You deserved a home that gave you peace at the end of your day, not war when you just started it. You deserved the opportunities that would’ve carried your natural ambition to a place you would’ve never imagined. You deserved the kind of love that only Jesus could give from those who surrounded you. You deserved to know yourself as we all knew you- free-spirited, funny, beautiful, spontaneous, creative, talented, smart, brave, bold, and compassionate.

Just yesterday, I finally decided to take your obituary card down from the magnets that held it against the whiteboard on my bedroom wall. That’s not to say that I don’t miss you, still grieve you, or think about you every day. But I knew that you would’ve wanted us to move forward, so I decided to do the best thing I could do for you and honor that. I’m sure if you were here, you’d probably think I was ridiculous for even keeping it up- and you would’ve let me know, too (haha). But what I will not take down is the photo of you on the little mini version of your obituary card that I keep in the clip on my driver’s side sun visor. To me, light you brought to this world will incomparably and everlastingly outshine the sun, and I wish to take you with me everywhere I go.

“He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.” ~ Revelation 21:4