I can only imagine

Today is October 8th, 2007. Six years ago today, Steven committed suicide.

Steven was a friend, a member of my youth group, and a crush. A huge crush. He was smart and sweet and quiet, a wrestler, a football player, an honor roll student. He had red hair like I had never seen before and his face was covered in freckles. I got to dance with him twice at Kyle Shirah's thirteenth birthday party. I was the envy of 99.9% of the girls there.

My uncle called, sobbing. I had never heard anyone, let alone a grown man, cry like that before. He told me he would call back in a minute, he could barely speak. My nanny, whose house I was at, went into panic mode and called him back immediately.

"Steve? What's wrong?!"

"Steve died. *sobs*"

"Steve who?"

"Steve from church *more sobs*"

She looked at me and told me that Steve from church died. I said, "Steve who?"

"Steven, from youth."

Ohmygosh. Please say you're kidding. This can't be true.

I ran home and started doing math homework. I couldn't handle it, I didn't know what to do.

At his funeral, there wasn't enough room in our church. People were sitting on the stage, in the balcony, and standing in the aisles. His football coach spoke and said things that we already knew. Everyone loved him, he was always smiling and friendly. His football number, 88, was retired.

There was a period of time, about a year or so, in which I thought about him everyday. I wondered why he did it, he had so much going for him. He had one of the most amazing families I had ever met. His stepmom was an angel, she had to be. I wondered what might have been between us, I wondered (and I still do) if we would have gotten together.

It wasn't until 2-3 years later that we, his not-too-close friends, would learn that he was bipolar.

I hope that his family knows how amazing they are and that I am thinking about them today. Rest in peace, Steven, you are missed.