The people of Wallace County are no strangers to tragedy, and in November of last year we might as well have suffered the biggest blow of the century. Loss is something I've never had to be accustomed to, and the loss of someone my age whom I had spent so much of my life growing up and competing with is something I'm never going to be able to work through. In this several month long period of meditation, I've managed to learn a few things.

1. You don't get an explanation

I feel as if a definition of this realization isn't necessary because the first question any of us could ask ourselves is "why?" Nobody had or has any answers to offer us, and they never will. It's no use trying to fill in the blank space with conjecture because there will be no large moment of enlightenment where the whole situation makes sense and we can finally be at peace. That doesn't happen in real life.

2. You don't get to pretend

I woke up that morning to my phone buzzing next to my bed, a phone call from my dad. I hit the ignore button because I knew if it was good news he would have waited until he knew I was awake. I logged into my computer to take a quiz before my 8:30 class and Facebook had managed to pop up on my desktop- only confirming what I knew in my heart to be true. It's not a feeling or a situation that we can hide from, and as much as we'd like to think that a person who is gone from us can easily just walk through the door and be back, we have to remember every day that miracles don't work that way.

3. You definitely don't get to give up

Eventually we all learn that heart-stopping, life-wrenching, maybe-I'll-throw-up-maybe-I'll-stop-breathing kind of pain. Sometimes, you might throw up, but you don't get to stop breathing, you don't get to stop hurting. Everyone will tell you that you can get through this, and that it gets better, or that somehow this pain and this thing that's managed to bring you to your knees and stop your life will somehow make you stronger. If you're like me, it's not like that. I'm still not sure it's something I can get through, and It hasn't made me a better or stronger person. I wanted to give up on school and on everything. I really let myself go those next two months and my first semester suffered for it. I used my pain as an excuse. You can't do that. You're not allowed to stop trying. I spent most of my Winter break crying and trying to work through it. There were no huge epiphanies, but I came back for the spring semester ready to work. That's who I was, and that's what I do. Being a little extra myself in a way helped me realize that I still had a life to live, and it was gonna hurt, but it was something I could do.

4. You don't have to feel guilty for living

After I had gotten back to the school grind, I found myself laughing with my friends and going out on the weekends only to stop myself short or head back home out of guilt realizing that some people don't get to do these things any more, and realizing that some families don't get to laugh with their loved ones. I felt guilty for having the privilege to be young and to forget for just a little bit how much I was hurting. I'm telling you right now. Don't do that to yourself. I had a dream a while back in which my friends were having their graduation party, and I was able to go and hug each and every one of them. He was there, and I wanted to hug him, too. I stopped myself short, though, because I knew he wasn't with us anymore. I went throughout my life enjoying the company of my friends and ex classmates while noticing him standing in the corner, not interacting with anyone. I realized upon waking up that that's not an awful way to live. I'm allowed to enjoy myself and the people around me. I can remember him best by loving the people he loves and making sure they know it.

It's something eventually everyone must go through, and if you're lucky, it may even happen a few times. I only say lucky because I see now that I was lucky enough to know who my friend was before he passed away, and I got to know him from all of his best and worst angles, and other people could only know the man he was in public, or who the news channels told them he was. There's no clause in our job descriptions when we're born exempting us from feeling or seeing or dealing with events we may not be ready for, and there's no instruction manual for grieving. Though, people are all too ready to shove pamphlets in your face outlining the steps or the processes or ways to deal with it. There's no right way to deal with it. There are so many wrong ways, though, and giving up is one of them.