The news that he was no longer with us struck me, just a few days after my sixteenth birthday. The words of my life-long friend sent me into shock, I refused to believe he was gone. “He’s dead.” The words echoed in my head, and twisted my insides, and I didn’t understand why another beautiful, young soul had to be taken. This isn’t even the first friend of mine’s life to be robbed by suicide. In the beginning, I had thought she must have had the wrong boy. Not him, not Kale Foster. He had far too much potential, too much value. He seemed like the most confident, happy go lucky young man I’d grown up, and had the pleasure to get to know. He couldn’t be gone, I refused to come to terms with the fact I wouldn’t get to see him when I returned to Norman like we had planned. I just spoke to him the other day, if only he had reached out I would’ve rushed over to his house in the middle of the night if I needed to. Instead, I had to see him lay in that casket. I think that’s when I lost my faith. Why would such a loving Lord allow me to be on vacation while this happened. It just wasn’t fair, not in the least. That’s the thing about suicide, though. It acts like a parasite, it sneaks it’s way into your brain triggered by the ugly things in life, or even sometimes the beautiful things. It disallows you to see the beauty in life, and the love others around you have for you. It convinces you that you’re nothing in this world, and that nobody would notice if you were missing, it pushes you to the limits you never even would have thought of. It will reunite broken families, just for them to break apart all over again. It ends your pain, but starts it in everybody else, and that pain cannot be numbed. It is evil, and cruel.     

 I had gotten back from my spring-break vacation just in time for the funeral service. I wasn’t going to miss that for anything. No matter how beautiful Grand Lake was, or how much pain I had been in due to my tonsillectomy. I wasn’t going to miss saying goodbye to my first real crush. The memories flowed back of growing up in the same neighborhood, sneaking peaks of him during school. He was such a lady’s man. He passed two months after I told him happy birthday. He was just barely seventeen. He asked me what I had gotten him for his birthday, and I didn’t even give him a reply. I’ll always regret not being there for him enough, not helping him get into the school he wanted. I’ll regret not hanging out with him. I’ll regret not knowing the pain he was battling. I just re-read old messages and cry. I honestly don’t believe I’ll ever get over my elementary crush. Whom I swore I was in love with. It was so innocent, and he was so innocent. Just a broken boy, whom nobody understood.

The viewing was the day before the funeral. It was the first dead body I ever really saw. I just stood there in utter shock. Everybody sobbed, but I didn’t feel anything even though I knew I should have. I just couldn’t believe that was the first time I had saw him in so long. I saw the marks around his neck, and it made me angry. There were scratches on his chest, I guess from trying to get the rope off. This was just not fair. Honestly, why him? Why couldn’t I help him?

The next day was the service, which was beautiful. They showed the childhood pictures of him. The music was beautiful. I’ve known this kid since he was seven, how could this not break me? We all took turns getting to go up to the open casket. I had a ring for him, that I wore everyday. I lay it on his chest, and kissed his forehead, boy this pain was really starting to hit me. I felt empty, and ultimately broken. I promised myself I would make him proud. I sat with his family friends. The tears wouldn’t stop, I physically felt pain in my chest. I hated suicide, I wished it didn’t exist, I wished I would’ve been able to go back in time knowing what I knew now. Nobody knew how this strong boy could have held so much pain within himself. He wasn’t the type to beg for attention, I blamed myself for not stopping him, because I knew about his addictions, and I knew people with addictions most likely had mental illness as well. I blamed myself for not asking him if he was truly okay. I blamed myself until I was blue in the face. Eventually I realized blaming myself wasn’t going to bring him back. Nothing would, all that was left to do was heal myself, and make him proud. I vow to not put my loved ones through the pain I felt, and still feel. I vow to not pass away before my grandmother, if I can help it. I know that he’s looking down on me, and the dreams I have of him, I believe he is visiting me in the lucid dreams. I will chase my dreams, for he was not able to. I will graduate, for he was not able to. I will get married and have children, for he was not able to. I will look for the silver lining in hard situations, for he was not able to. I will remind myself the pain of suicide and the trauma it leaves behind, and how I never want my loved ones to go through that pain. I’m going to make him proud, because I know he’s looking down on me from above.