I woke up knowing something wasn’t right. I hadn’t heard from you in weeks and summer was just around the corner. I called and called praying for you to answer and say every thing is ok, but I knew that wasn’t likely. A crying woman answered and I asked if you were okay. It was your mom. She cried and cried as she told me that you wouldn’t be going to summer camp this year. You died on your way to a party, hit by a drunk driver. I felt my eyes drowning in a tsunami of tears as I started to fall back onto my bed. You were my backbone, my advice giver, and my best friend. I felt like I couldn’t breath as I received a picture of you lying in your coffin, looking pale as a ghost. My heart was as cold as stone, no room for acceptance or forgiveness. At first I refused to believe that you were gone. I wiped my tears and reassured my self that this was just a joke or a dream. I denied any problems as my parents asked what was wrong. After a while I got angry, how could you leave me when I needed you most? I used to tell God the things I would give up just to have you back. Soon, I felt guilty. I could have stopped you, I could’ve found a way to save you. After giving up on bargaining and guilt, I went into a depression. I would come home and sit in my room and write for hours, tuning the rest of the world out. But, when my parents started talking about taking me to a counselor, I knew I finally had to come clean and tell my parents about how you died, and accept the fact that this year I won’t have a tubing partner for summer camp. Sometimes I pick up the phone and dial you number before realizing that your no longer there. And even though I miss you so much, you have introduced me to writing. I can express my emotions, tie together thoughts, and record past time memories so I can hold onto them forever. I miss you.