Yours Truly

Girls with Pencils and Smiles

Were you afraid?

To die, I mean.

Did you believe in a creator or the recycle of life?

Or were you solely content with the gift of living at all?

Life isn't weighed by size or length, I can agree with that. Did you?
Agree with that, I mean.

Maybe it's different when it's really you. All of these philosophers and thinkers write in books and speak to masses but they're all older than 17. They got to be a senior in high school. They got to graduate with everyone else.

What was your biggest goal?
Before that appointment at the doctor's office, I mean.

Did you know your dreams were over at those test results? Or was it sometime later? Or was it never acknowledged but rather the least of your worries?
How did you describe yourself, after that?
After you became a cancer patient, I mean.

Were you strong, bright and ambitious? Or were you unlucky?

You faced quite the monster. I mean, from over here, I watched as you stood before the monster with only a pencil in your hand and a smile on your face. And as the monster approached, you didn't stop smiling. You told your friends the truth. You comforted them as it stepped closer and closer to you, as it didn't show signs of weakness against your pencil. You told them that the monster was scary, but nothing too bad. Maybe you believed that, too.

One night, soon after your announcement to the community about your battle with the monster, I sat down for dinner with my parents. I'd never been the type for faith. I needed facts. My parents are both expert monster hunters, so I asked them. I did not fear. I believed your message to the school. You said you could fight the monster. I asked if whether or not your specific monster could be beat with a smile and a pencil.

Your pencil was sharp and your smile was blinding. I knew it. Everyone did. Did you mean what you told us?

It only took 5 months.
I didn't attend your virtual early graduation. I tried to hold onto normal.
Dying is for grandmas and grandpas. It's for people who drive their cars too fast, drink, eat, or inhale bad things. It's for unfortunate timing, even, maybe.
It's not for girls who smile and write. It's not for girls who can't wait for a summer of camping with her friends, or girls who can't wait for senior year. 

There wasn't a wrinkle on your face. 

Maybe you didn't graduate high school, didn't get to participate in senior pranks or announce your next step, wherever or whatever it would have been. I am sorry for all of that. I don't know why that monster chose you.
But you did so much more than I've ever seen. You showed us all what it meant to be a victim but what it meant to smile in the face of a monster. 

You were 17, and I'm 19 now. It's been almost 2 years. I still think of you, almost every day. Mostly I think about what you lost. I'm sorry, that that's the truth, I mean. I'm sorry that your memory is ripping at my heart every chance it gets. The loss you felt, it rips at me too. I guess you showed me that we are just along for some sort of ride. Thats the scariest thing anyone could've ever taught me. We're in a car that's carried by a strong wind in any direction it likes. Hell, we all learned it that day you made your announcement. 

You always knew something I didn't though. You smiled while I screamed and yelled. You wrote when I cried. It's still up, you know. Those words you wrote about plans changing and doctor's visits. 

I don't feel like I can ever say goodbye, or stop writing letters to you. Your body stopped working, but you're not actually gone. It's like you're patting my shoulder when I forget to be brave or grateful. Or when I decide to fight monsters with pencils. 

I want you to know I'm so sorry. For everything. But thank you, for everything, too.