I'm not much in the mood to write, actually. Not after today. But I feel like I have to. It's just one of those things that can't pass without some sort of documentation. Especially since my first funeral to attend was for someone three years younger than me, the same age as my little sister.


A fourteen-year-old shouldn't have to bury another fourteen-year-old.

Now Carly didn't actually bury her friend. But she did have to attend her funeral. With all her other fourteen-year-old friends. And that shouldn't ever have to happen.

It was awful. Kierstin was a beautiful, smart girl with a loving family and a true passion for life. I know that's what everybody says about anyone who dies, but it was true in Kierstin's case. She was a dedicated Girl Scout, a caring volunteer for therapeutic horseback riding, a smart scholar making the best of her dyslexia, a talented track star, a loving friend, and a daring go-cart racer. And nobody ever thought that Sunday would be her last race.
I was okay when we walked in the church. I was okay when we sat down in the pews. I was okay when they played One Direction, and had never been more thankful for the boy band than I had at that moment.
I wasn't okay when I saw Natalie, Kierstin's little sister, the girl who used to run and hug me because I would play with her while her sister was at Girl Scouts, walk bravely hand-in-hand with her mother, blinking tears. I wasn't okay when I thought about how she must feel, because I know I couldn't function if Carly weren't here anymore. I wasn't okay when I looked at Carly and saw her tears. I wasn't okay when she got up to sit with Kierstin's close friends and family at the front. Because when you sit at the front, people stare at you with sorrow.
So I looked at the stained glass up above, at a white angel and a white dove with wings spread wide. And I thought about The Legend of Korra and my black shoes and Jared's face. Anything to clam me down. I tapped my foot in time to the music, not caring that they played Rascal Flatts four times in a row, just glad for the noise. When we prayed, I was shaking, so I breathed in - one, two, three, four - and I breathed out - one, two, three, four. Over and over I counted. The only thing that existed were those four numbers.

Then I got over myself. I was able to focus on what the people were saying. I was able to actually look at the pictures of Kierstin and her friends and my sister smiling on the screen overhead. I was able to whisper the words to the first verse of Amazing Grace and pretend I knew the words to Victory in Jesus. I was okay.

Until Kierstin's father went up to speak. And I started shaking before he could say anything. My mom grabbed my hand. She was shaking, too. And then:
"I miss my little girl..."

I couldn't do it. The tears and the gasping breaths. It was over and the people in the front got up to leave. Carly's little face, red with tears and holding her breath because I know how much it takes for her to cry in front of me, much less all these people. She was gripping another girls hand, all of them dressed in blue. Kierstin's favorite color.

I ran to her as soon as I could and followed her as the girls stood in a group outside. I followed them when they decided to sit back in the church, ten girls alone in a huge church surrounded by sunflowers and silence. They sat on the first pew and cried. I hugged Carly hard and Zoe harder, who had just found out her friend died this morning after coming home from a math camp, only to attend her funeral at one pm.
"I hope she wasn't scared..." Zoe cried in her little voice.

They're too young, so young to have to endure something like this.

And as I walk into Carly's room later this evening, I notice she has a headband pinned to her wall.
"Why is that there?" I point.

"It was Kierstin's."