It's Been 14 Weeks

It’s been 14 weeks since then.

You saved me. In a weird, twisted way.

I was thinking about dying around the time it happened to you. I wanted to talk to you more about it, but I think I already got my answer from you.

Your death opened my eyes first-hand on how it affects everyone around you.

You can think you are so insignificant when you’re alive, that nobody will even notice when you are gone. But that couldn’t be further from the truth.

Grief is like a reckless curse your body casts, gravely injuring everyone who knows who you are. And after seeing the damage done, I wouldn’t wish to cast that curse on anyone. At least not willingly.

What hurts the most isn’t that you’re gone. It’s the fact that we could have prevented it. That if we all made different choices, there was a chance that you wouldn’t have been in that situation in the first place. That’s the most frustrating part.

I would give anything, anything to see you again. I would take the chance to tell you how much you mean to me. Just once.

Sigh.

We always said that we wanted to die. Sometimes jokingly. Sometimes seriously. But not as serious as you.

Because you’re actually dead.

So unfair.

***

It’s been 14 days since then.

Your memorial was at the church just down the street from school. The one we TP’d on Halloween.

Everyone you knew was there. The gang was there. Your teachers were there. The classmates that hated you were there.

Even Mr. Kim, your favorite 7th grade science teacher, was there. "I would say it's nice to see you again, but I wish it were under happier circumstances." He said that to everyone.

Both your parents were there. Your older brother was there too. Your sister wasn’t; she was at therapy. I don’t blame her.

Max wasn’t there. I didn’t really care to know why. I heard he’s in jail or something. Whatever.

Terrance and I sat in the pew three rows from the front. We were screwing around, taking jabs at each other and laughing at the dark jokes we made about you.

“What do you call an Isabelle with no arms and legs hanging on your wall? Art.”

I don’t remember how the other jokes went. I just remember they were really funny.

“What’s in God’s name is wrong with you?”

I turned around to see a very upset woman. She was probably the mom of one of the students. She didn’t understand that we were your closest friends. We were the ones who grieved for you first. You would have thought our jokes were funny. You would have been laughing along with us. You would have wanted us to smile.

We ignored her and continued our dead Isabelle jokes until the service started.

I don’t remember much of the service, except that your mother was the last to speak. Her eulogy for you was frank and to the point. She didn’t sugarcoat it and explained everything.

She recalled from her perspective the moments leading up to your death. She said your funeral was closed-casket. She said that despite everything you did to make her life hell, you were still her sweet little angel.

You came home very late two nights before and your mom yelled at you. But instead of yelling back, you only expressed defeat. You confessed that you were with Max, and that you tried angel dust with him. You said not to worry, because the experience was so horrible that trying it once was more than enough for you.

Your mom then took you and your sister to your dad’s house like usual, expecting to see you again next week.

She didn’t expect a call from your dad the day after.

She described the scene of your last moments in great detail. And when she was done, she immediately left the stage and let her words hang heavily in the air.

It was like she dropped a stun grenade on the congregation. For a few moments you could only hear sniffles and sobs echoing throughout the church. It took the priest a few moments to collect himself and return to the podium to conclude the service.

I still don’t know why you were with Max that day. I thought you hated him. I never understood why you did anything. Even though we’ve been friends since middle school, I sometimes felt you were a mystery to me. I was always listening to you. But maybe I wasn’t always paying attention to you.

On the way out, I saw your mom and dad together for the first time since I’ve known you. They embraced each other like it was the first time they’ve hugged in forever.

Even if only temporarily, you got your parents back together like you always wanted.