He died in 7th grade. It just had to be him. Him who happened to be MY best friend. Him who it just HAD to happen to. A day to be remembered in, now only a sad way. Why couldnt it have been me? Why him?

Every year on November 15th I cry, remebering all the good times we had together. All the arguments we had. Thinking of how long I knew him. Was it five years? Or six? I go and visit him almost every week. My mom says i'll get over it. I dont think so. I read him my papers and I tell him all about my schoolwork. He's a very good listener, but never does any of the talking. I tell him I miss him alot. I have his epitaph memorized. My names on it. His parents are still having a hard time, like me. My mom still asks me why I remember him, he died 3 years ago. Why I'm still sad. Why I even bother to go there almost every day now. She doesnt have as much information on the death as I do. All she knows is he was my best friend and he died. She has not the least bit of an idea how I feel. She doesn't even ask. When I feel the time is right, I'll tell her the truth:

Mom, you have no idea what im feeling right now. He was my best friend and you know that, so dont ask why I still go see him or why I talk to him. I will always remember him, no matter how hard I try to forget. Its not easy mom. He died on a day that I will never forget. A day you will never forget. You dont understand. Mom, He died on my birthday.