Cold is the best word I know to describe how I felt. It was not a physical cold but an inner, desolate, echoing cold that resounded in the hollows of my bones. There was a pain in my heart and a pain in my head. A sick gnawing feeling of contempt and injustice nestled itself in my stomach and was incased in a consuming feeling of indifference toward the world.
“They lie!” I told myself over and over, “He’s not gone. It can’t be true.” It was difficult, at first, to comprehend what had actually happened. Then came the inevitable confirmation of my fears.
There he lay, in his forever-box, and I knew he was not coming back. Pain boiled in my veins. It was as if some degenerate had thrown his brick through my window of faith.
I saw what I had known was true and what I had hoped and begged and prayed was only a tasteless prank. I wanted to scream until I had no more voice. I wanted to fight until the immensely cruel and unforgivable injustice was righted. But all I could do was fall into a heap, like someone’s discarded laundry and cry until I was numb to the marrow.
It was unreal. I have asked a trillion times, “Why then, why him?” The sole answer I have found is perhaps it was for the best, it is not for us to know.
Of this tragedy there is but one thing I am secure in and that is; society will sorely miss the grace and kindness of this greatly loved young man. We too will miss him for the rest of time.