So,
You've lost a friend.
Well what do we say now?
What else can we possibly do after that?
It's not like you can bring them back right?
It's not like they'll magically wake up on the operating table after 10 minutes.
Pronounced dead.
Not exactly something you want to hear 10:15 at night.
Heck, you probably didn't even expect to ever walk into a room like that.
You don't expect to hear the words,
"I'm sorry..."
You don't expect to run out crying before the rest of the sentence can fall from their lips.
You're lost I guess.
You're confused.
You probably don't even understand.
Some of you do,
Well you understand half of it, and so you blame people.
You may even be blaming yourself right now.
Don't.
Don't blame yourself.
Your friend that you lost?
Well you see, when she decided to leave everything behind she was working on forgiving everyone and everything.
And when she was finally gone.
She did.
I always say, 'Never say did, did means dead.' Well then, the irony.
So you've lost a friend.
Now what do you do?
Well you move on, of course.
Simple.
Except, you treat your own kids differently now.
You make sure they're loved enough and not too much.
You're more gentle now, you're kinder.
You're somewhat, softer.
Because you don't want a repeat.
And you also want to make your friend proud.
She wanted kids.
She really did, she'd want 10.
And you remember it, and then you think if it.
And then it hurts. Because she's ironic and decided to die at 10.
She didn't expect it to take 15 minutes longer, her blood's thin, she thought she'd bleed faster.
Had she timed herself properly you'd have ached even more.
Now you can't stand to see the number 10.
You could die from the pain in your chest.
Your lungs even feel like they're about to give in.
The news scared you so much, so much that you can't move.
Breathe, even.
So you've lost a friend, and you're hurting.
Some of you might start a campaign.
Raise awareness.
Trust me it doesn't work.
