When grief is deepest, words are fewest. (Ann Voskamp)
On Thursday, I called you in the morning when I woke up, like I've done nearly every day for the last eleven years. We talked, you were goofy, the dog was snoring. You told me you'd text me, that we'd talk at 8, like we do every day. It's been so hard to be here without you for school but you insisted the sacrifice was worth it. I texted you in the morning. No reply, but I figured you were busy. Texted again in the afternoon, still nothing. 8 came and went and you weren't there. I called your sister and drove through the rain to find you. The news came yesterday afternoon. This is where they found you, so close to trying to get home to us. My heart is broken. There were so many moments we are supposed to share. So much life you were supposed to live. You left me your keys in the usual spot. I'm going to drive us home, this last time.