5:56 a.m. I dragged my feet out of the soft, safe cloud I call my resting bed. I got up faster than usual, had enough time to take a shower, eat some crackers and look over the news. I slowly waddled over to my jeep, threw my pack in the passenger seat and headed off like any other day. Except it wasn't. There was this dragging sensation I've only felt a few times in my life. I walk in these somewhat tranquil doors of the place I will be in 3 1/2 months. I look to see a group of people I can't call my friends anymore. I look away. "To math" I said subconsciously. I looked around the room, only a few people. Felt that dragging sensation to run out of the school. I sat down, smiling for some reason. My teacher held a paper. The light that usually rests in her eyes is filled with desperation and cold sadness. She opens her mouth with a shakiness that made me quiver.

I heard the dead silence we all felt. Tears and sadness consumed the room. Gone. Just like that. One instant. I stood there. On trial. I felt nothing. No emotion consumed me. No sadness, anger, guilt. I stood up. Walked out of the room. Exhausted and out of breath, trying to get to the main hallway for emotional and moral oxygen. I remembered when the Arapahoe High School shooting happened. People panicking, crying on the floor, screaming out. I remembered back then when I got in my jeep driving to Arapahoe to see if my best friend was hurt. I spent five to seven hours driving, calling, texting, checking the news. There I am. Present day. I see our halls in weeping sorrow. I helped some of my friends up and gave them a good, helpful speech that cured them, but I forgot about myself. I got back in my car and went home, trying to gather my thoughts. Trying to piece them together, I sat in my room. Silence. The same silence. Click. I broke down. Anger, sadness, guilt.

Mountain Vista High School interview with Jake Herman

Jake Herman was crazy. He often related himself to being crazy. He was insane. He believed that everyone is a good person, that they all could achieve greatness. He told me that every day. Jake Herman wasn't perfect. His untimely death is no more important to a Syrian refugee, but he cared. A lot. He looked for the good in people and he died believing that. That's more I can say for most people.

So Jacob Herman. Farewell, my friend. You've done enough. We will take it from here.

See you someday, my mentor.

We say goodbye in our words and thoughts.

To say your last goodbye. Listen to this song for Jacob Herman.

His memory is us and everything that he has taught us. We are his memory.