It was stormy when you left us. I woke up that day, and it was like I could feel a change. And then everyone on facebook were posting these statuses about how beautiful you were and how sad it was you were gone. But most of them didn't even know you. They had no idea just how amazing you really were and it made me mad that they could try to get in on your death. It made me sick and mad and I couldn't believe that but what made me the most angry was that they knew before me. I was so mad that people who had talked to you once knew before I did after knowing you for so long and I was so mad at my parents because they didn't even tell me you were in the hospital and they didn't tell me people were going up to see you that morning. I didn't get the opportunity to worry. I didn't have a chance to say goodbye. You were just gone and there was nothing I could do.
I couldn't do anything for a while. I was numb and I couldn't cry because I didn't know what to do. I sat there and tried to realize that you were gone but I couldn't. But then, finally, it sunk in a little. And I lay there and I cried for probably two hours straight, until there was a river on the floor and carpet marks on my face and I couldn't cry anymore.
They sang You Are My Sunshine when you were slipping away and I wasn't even there and I still can't listen to that song without crying.
Sometimes even now I forget that you're gone. Well, I don't forget. I can't forget, not ever, but sometimes it falls into the back of my mind with all the other dark things and I think I might see you on my way home, maybe I'll see you in the living room window playing a song, maybe I'll come over and we'll play video games and watch movies and it will all be okay, and then I think of your house and your empty window and I realize it won't just be okay.
I wonder sometimes if anyone has gone into your room since you left. I wonder if they go inside and look at how you had things before you went to the hospital that last night. Maybe they clean in there, dust everything and keep it looking like you're coming home that day. Maybe no one goes in. Maybe it's just a spare room that no one touches because they know it will hurt too bad to visit. But maybe they just packed everything up because no one could live knowing everything you owned was sitting there, waiting for you, but you'd never be back.
Something that makes me really sad is how you said you were ready. You were ready to go and we needed to let you go. You were always so brave. I always asked myself, "How did she do that? How was she so ready to leave?" And then I realize that you could have been preparing yourself for that for months, after you started getting worse. That makes me really sad, how you had to prepare yourself for death. But I think also it must have been so painful, being sick for so long, and I guess you're in a good place now. We just miss you so much. It's so different now. Everything's so different. You'll never have another birthday party. You'll never graduate high school or go to college or get a job, I won't see you at Beaverton or at the neighborhood parties again...I'll never see you again.
Everything was so much better when you were here. Your endless positivity and happiness...you amazed me. You were so fun and happy and bright. I miss you so much and I wish you were here. It's sort of empty now.
I still see you sometimes. Not really you, but sometimes things remind me of you. Like cute animals, and fireworks, and sometimes I see a really pretty star that makes me think you're somewhere nice, or I make myself a little constellation, like you used to when we went to Cape Lookout. Everything's so different now, things sort of fell apart when you left. But I'm sure it will all be okay eventually.
See you on the fourth of July, Mister.
