Those four letters are so finite and so final; so resolved and absolute. So full of meaning…yet so empty. The sort of letters that you cannot really understand until you know how it feels – how it feels to have your heart ripped from you chest as you read that apology and know that there is nothing that you can do. How it feels to try and comprehend how someone so full of passion and life, could suddenly stop being there.

How it feels to grieve.

There is something bizarre about it. It's like learning a word for the first time. It's like remembering how to breathe. It's like finally grasping a concept in school.

But it's not a concept you want to be able to grasp.


It's funny how a single month can pass by so quickly, almost unnoticed. The days flash by and fade into one another. Until, all of a sudden, I'm realizing the date and feeling empty again. The hours seem so insignificant, as I remember your last words to me – 'really you've made a difference in my life. You really have'. I wonder how you could have been feeling, and how you could leave us like this. I'm not mad at you…just at your choice. But I'll never know if you regret it…and it wouldn't even matter if you did.


Grief is a funny thing. You think you know what it feels like, but when you actually know, it eclipses all your ideas and they seem as fickle as the ticking clock. I cannot begin to image what you were going through – you, who was meant to be the strongest; you, who was meant to be the one who made the difference.

I wonder how you could ever do something like that, when you promised me – promised me – that you never would. But promises don't mean anything any more. They're just words, just collections of letters that don't mean anything until you feel them.


Why couldn't you stay just long enough to explain? Why couldn't you take a moment –just a moment – to elucidate exactly…

Exactly what? I can't even think about what I would ask you, if I got that one last chance. But it doesn't stop me from wondering how you could choose to go, when so many people need you to be here.


I won't pretend I understand. I could never understand how something like this could pass by, and remain unknown. I could never understand how the wind could keep blowing, how the sun could keep shinning, how the world could keep spinning when so much has changed.

But I suppose that's just it, isn't it? Very little has changed. One life out of six billion is less than a percent; less than the most insignificant number possible. It's like death tolls being rounded down from one hundred and eleven to one hundred and ten. That one life becomes obsolete, a bed never slept in, a figment of the imagination.

But it's not a figment of the imagination. Your life was as powerful as the wind, as powerful as the sea. It changed more lives then one, gave hope to plenty and strength to everyone who came across it.

But you'll never know that, will you?


Past tense never meant so much. Once used to describe activities on the weekend – now used to describe lives that have been lived. Lives that are no more than a collection of fading memories and conversations saved on the computer. Lives that are no more than albums of pictures and phone numbers I can't quite bring myself to delete.

You apologized to me one last time before you signed off. 'I'm sorry, but the world is better off without me'

It was reading those words that made me realize the truth. That you weren't coming back – that you were…