One of my earliest memories was when my mother told me I lost my great grandmother. As a preschooler, this was my first encounter with death and I didn’t know how to react.

Confused by my emotions, I pulled a blanket over my head. As teenagers, our friends know us in a way that no one else does, and when they die, it can be devastating. The death of a friend affects us deeply.

Some may dismiss the relationship.

Some may judge our grieving process.

Some may assume there is only one way for teenagers to “properly” mourn the loss of a friend.

In reality, each of our grieving processes is different, and we deserve fair and respectful grieving rights...

One fateful day in December, 14-year-old Conor I. of Ledyard died. He was quite a character, charming in an eccentric way. He was quirky. He wore bow ties proudly to school, and was known as a prankster, a clown.

Who else would make a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich for the school talent show? He was smart, funny and a talented runner.

No one expects bad things to happen to them. There are over 7 billion people on our planet. What are the odds of anything bad happening to you?

The young feel immortal. We feel invincible. Helmets are optional. Seatbelts an afterthought.

I had never been formally introduced to him. I had watched him run alongside my brother in school track tournaments, heard the witty jokes and comical skits that he performed and caught glances of him around town. In this way, he was etched into my memory.

Yet, when he died, I felt an immediate bond between us... Was it because we attended the same school? Was it because my brother knew him? Was it because we both were young?

This wasn’t the way it was supposed to turn out.

This was no fairy tale.

Several months later, a talented sophomore at Ledyard High School, Zackory S., passed away during a car crash. He was a happy, eager young man with a hopeful future, and his death left a widespread sadness in the community.

Besides his exceptional outlook and personality, Zackory was a gifted mechanic and talented sprinter.

Isn’t it sad how life can just run away from you?

Memories of them ... So many of them lay in our school, tucked into even the smallest of places. They are gathered in dusty corners, stacked carefully upon tall wooden shelves, and are piled upon one another in boxes. Everyone wants to be known for how they lived, not how they died.

As I approach the circulation desk, the college librarian hands me the copies of this column I’ve made. She took a glimpse at the column I’ve written, and we strike up a conversation. She shares the heartache of her teenage niece over the death of a friend.

She asks if she can share the column with her niece. I nod.

Grief affects us all. No one escapes it.