This Friday (October 23rd), will mark the three year anniversary of my best friend’s death. When I was 17 and he was 14, Isaiah ended his life.
Shortly after his suicide, I took all of the things I could find that had to do with Isaiah, and I put them in a box. For months, I have tried every night to go through the possessions in my “Isaiah box”, but I never get very far before I need to stop. Today, all I managed to look at in the box was a guitar pick. I felt sick as I reached down and held it in my hand.
Isaiah and I both owned guitars even though neither of us knew how to play. We decided that we would learn together and poured over dozens of YouTube videos to try to learn the basics. Neither of us got very far with it. As I held the pick, I realized that it represents all of the things that Isaiah and I wanted to do together and all of the things that he will never get to experience. The hopes, the dreams, the bucket list ideas, they all seem to fall apart without Isaiah.
Suddenly, the weight of the guitar pick was too great for me to handle, so I watched as it fell out of my hand and onto the floor.
My heart hurts now, so sharply that I can hardly breathe.