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Rain clouds filled the sky as our car turned left into Lake Forest Memorial Park. It was the 3-year anniversary of the death of Amir. Amir was one of my dearest friends, as kids, we would spend hours building an indoor tent in my cousin’s room, and we had a sort of childhood friendship that was sacred in its own innocent way. Amir chose to take his life three years ago. So on that rainy, gloomy day, his closest family and friends gathered by his grave to mourn his death. Amir’s death really took a toll on all those close to him, including me. As the small drops of rain tapped on the picture engraved in the gravestone, I started to look back on my life, and tried to remember my friend. The never-ending question ran through my mind again and again. It is almost permanently attached to every thought I ever have of him. The question is simply: why? Why would he do such a thing? Amir was living in a world that lived in before he died; that of a typical teenager. When failing a math test, being rejected by a crush, or being teased by a bully meant the end of the world. These things meant everything to us, and when they didn’t turn out right, we gave up and thought that our life was miserable. I use ‘we’ because I used to feel the same way that Amir did. Superficial things meant everything to me, like how many friends I had or what kind of clothes I owned.
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