I don't even know where to start with this. There's no manual, no roadmap for how to bring someone back after they've...gone. After Harrison died, I thought that was it. I thought there was no coming back. But now, after everything we’ve been through, I can’t let go of the idea that maybe, just maybe, I can find a way to bring him back.
It sounds insane, I know. People don’t come back from that. Not really. But Harrison was different. His death never felt final to me. He left something behind, a piece of himself, maybe in that note, maybe in the memories he carved into us—good and bad. And Hadassah, she’s the key. She saved him once, even if she doesn’t know it, and I can’t shake the feeling that she can help save him again.
It’s been eating at me, the thought that I didn’t do enough. I found his note, the scars on his arms, and I let him go. I wasn’t there for him when he needed me most, and I’ve been carrying that guilt ever since. But there’s something more here. I feel it in my gut. Travis’s disappearance, Harrison’s death—it’s all connected in ways I don’t fully understand yet.
Hadassah is just a kid, and she shouldn’t have to deal with this. But she’s tied to all of it, and I know I can’t do this without her. She was the one person Harrison let in, the only one who could see through his tough exterior, even when he was awful to her. She’s the reason he didn’t jump that day at Arrowhead, and maybe she’s the reason I can bring him back now.
It’s not like I’m trying to raise the dead—well, maybe I am. I don’t know anymore. But I can’t let him go without a fight. Not when I’m still here, and not when Hadassah still talks about him like he’s just on the other side of the door, like any minute he’ll walk in and crack one of his stupid, mean jokes. She’s forgiven him for so much already, more than anyone deserves, and that’s what gives me hope. If anyone can help me pull off this impossible task, it’s her.
I don’t know how this will end, but I can’t stand the idea that Harrison’s gone forever. Maybe I’m just chasing shadows, but I have to try.
I’ve been doing my research. I know this sounds crazy, but the more I dig, the more it feels like this could actually work. I’ve spent hours looking into stories, legends, anything that might give me a lead. You’d be surprised how many cultures have stories about bringing someone back—some through rituals, others through some kind of spiritual connection. And after everything that’s happened, I’m willing to believe in things I never thought possible.
I know what you’re thinking: this isn’t real, Isiah. People don’t come back. But I’m telling you, there’s more to this than meets the eye. There’s a thin line between life and death, and maybe, just maybe, Harrison didn’t fully cross it.
The note I found from him—something about it just...it feels unfinished. Like he left a part of himself behind. And Hadassah, she’s still connected to him somehow. I’m sure of it. When she gave him that hug on the stairs, completely unaware of what she was doing, she saved him. She pulled him back from the edge without even knowing it. What if there’s something in that connection that could bring him back again?
I’ve found references to rituals, old Jewish traditions mixed with some obscure mystical practices. I know it sounds out there, but in times of deep loss, people have always looked to higher powers for answers, for miracles. There’s one ritual, something about gathering the person's most meaningful possessions, combining them with certain prayers... It’s not about raising the dead, not exactly, but more about finding a way to bring back a lost soul, to guide them back to where they belong. Harrison’s soul didn’t belong in that closet.
I’ve started gathering what I need. I’ve got his old jersey, the one he used to wear when he thought no one was watching. The one from our rookie season when we barely knew each other, but somehow, it already felt like we’d known each other forever. I’ve got that note he left, and I’m keeping it safe. I think that’ll be the most important part—his words, the last thing he wanted us to know.
But I can’t do this alone. Hadassah’s going to have to be a part of it, whether I want her to be or not. She’s tied to him in ways I don’t fully understand. Maybe she’s the key, or maybe I’m just reaching, desperate to fix something that can’t be fixed. But I can’t shake this feeling that I’m on the right track.
I’ve been tracking down someone who might be able to help. Someone who knows more about these old traditions than I do. I haven’t told Hadassah yet. I don’t want to put too much on her plate with everything else going on. But soon... I’ll need her. We’ll need her.
I’m going to update this journal as I go along because I need a record of everything. I need proof, for myself if no one else, that I didn’t just lose my mind. That there’s something real here.
I’ll keep going until I find a way. I have to. I owe it to Harrison. To Hadassah. To myself.
Update:
It’s late. I’ve been working all night. I found something. It’s called the Tikkun HaNefesh—a ritual meant to “repair the soul.” It’s not common knowledge, and it’s rarely used. But I think this might be it. The notes I found talk about how, when a person’s soul is shattered by trauma, or lost through death, the people closest to them can help guide it back to a place of peace.
I can’t stop thinking about Harrison’s trauma, about what he went through in those camps. The conversion therapy, the abuse, all the ways they tried to break him. I think a part of him never left that place. Maybe that’s why this feels unfinished—because Harrison was still trapped in that pain, even after he died.
I need to talk to Hadassah. I need to tell her everything.
