My friend, Gaurav (who I was really attached to) had just died, and I was in the backyard playing by myself. He had a horrible accident back from vacation.
The smoke was coming from the house in the back of the yard. I remember I was scared, but I didn’t know what was happening.
Then my mom was there in the front yard. I remember being so scared because she said, “He’s dead, he’s gone, it’s over.” My dad and brothers were already on the way to the hospital, and she asked if I wanted to go. I did so
I got in the car and started crying because I didn’t want him to die. But my mom promised me that he would be okay and I would see him again. I didn’t believe her. I wanted to, but I didn’t.
He was gone, and I couldn’t come back from that. That’s how I think of it every time I hear or tell him. I’d rather say his name and face it head-on. It’s easier that way. When I find myself sitting there and thinking about it for too long