4.8.16

Another Note

It's her birthday today. She would've been sixteen. A few weeks before she died, her parents bought her a Jeep, but they never got to surprise her with it. I saw a picture a little while ago. She'd have loved it.

Her brother went to school the other day in his red Converses, the ones just like hers, in remembrance of his big sister. I'm wearing my grey ones for her.

Tonight, at the school, on the football field where she used to cheer, her family invited us - her classmates - to release a hundred semi-biodegradable (because that's what she'd have wanted) balloons in honor of her birthday. There are going to be a lot of tears. And the happy birthday posts I've seen online have already made me cry a few times.

Please, if you ever get to a point where you feel like ending it, don't. I'm no stranger to the feeling, but I can tell you from all this that the world isn't just going to keep on without you in it. The desk in your favorite class will be empty, your absence screaming silently to everyone who knows you're not there. The teacher will accidentally call your name taking attendance and everyone will freeze, and as the class moves on, there will be a sticky darkness to the air.

Please, I promise it gets better. Don't leave them. Don't leave us.