“Losing him was blue like l’d never known. Missing him was dark gray all alone. Forgetting him was like trying to know somebody you never met, but loving him was red.”

It’s a nightmare that I replay over and over again in my head, the day I said my final goodbye. I stood there by your grave feeling nothing but complete pain. Surrounded by all those who loved you, I felt so dead. But I wasn’t dead, you were. And as time has gone on, the loss of you still doesn’t feel completely real. It seems like yesterday that we were living a fairy tale. But like all great fairy tales, it ended. And although it scarred me, the actual loss of you killed me.

It was a Saturday night in church the first time we ever made eye contact. I saw the way you looked at me; we had an instant chemistry. From there we created memories that I often replay in my head. Some of my favorites are when you broke your phone because I couldn’t see you that weekend. Or that time we kissed in the CiCi’s pizza game room and your brother told on us. Yeah, Mande still won’t let that one go. Oh, and let’s not forget our cheesy pet names for each other (rolls eyes and chuckles). And although we had some good memories, I can’t help but remember the bad ones too. Our fights, our melodramatic personalities clashing, our overly demanding need to be each other’s support system -- we were a roller coaster of emotions, fighting a battle between loving and hating each other.

Today marks three years since your passing, but it still feels like yesterday. It has gotten easier, however, to cope with the realization you are no longer here. Sometimes I struggle, though, and have picked up a few weird coping mechanisms that probably will never change. For example, my phone’s background picture has been the exact same picture of us since April 28, 2013. Oh, and I can’t drink milk without putting ice in it. I keep a picture of you on my desk, and not a day goes by where I don’t at least glance at it. There are some nights I can’t sleep unless I write you a letter or read our notes back and forth from each other. And ever so often, late at night when I’m driving home I will talk to you hoping you hear, waiting for a response that I will never get.

Seventeen years -- how can someone make an impact in such a short time? Most can’t, but you did. Your life was tragically cut short, but God used every ounce of your breath to leave a global impact. And although I am not as big as Africa, the impact you made in my life was just as huge. You were the first person I ever loved, the first person to love me back. You loved me even with all my flaws. You saw something in me that I rarely see. You showed me that I was worth something, that I was beautiful, and that I am capable of being loved. You were sent by God to be my support when everything else in my world was falling apart. I didn’t know life could hurt so bad, but you blocked that pain until I could heal.

For the longest time after your death, I held on to so much guilt and so much regret. I blamed myself for things that I had no control over; I felt like I let you down. And though we had a rocky relationship, I no longer hold regret. We served our purposes in each other’s lives and that is all I can ever ask for. I miss you, not necessarily us together, but just you as a person. I loved who you were, what you believed in, and the person you were supposed to become. You set a standard for the type of guy I will eventually marry, you helped me find my self worth, and you took away all my insecurity. You challenged me to grow stronger spiritually, and you believed in everything I will ever do with my life.

On the day you died, a part of me died too. On the day you died, a new part of me came to life. We will never get to finish writing our story, but that is OK because I know now I can start a new one on my own. Three years ago, my heart was completely shattered. Today there are only scars. I have filled the pain with laughter, the confusion with prayer, and the anger with love. We lived a fairytale without a happily-ever-after, but it was beautiful. Losing you was completely blue, and missing you was the darkest gray I have ever experienced, but loving you was burning red.

Thank you, Coleman Lee Mitchell, thank you for letting me love you.