Everyone noticed Hillary. He was funny, charming, and had a presence that spoke volumes even in silence. He could easily join any conversation and always had a story to share about anything and everything.
I admired how easy life seemed for him, how he lived without limitations, always open. You’d never find Hillary silent unless we were sitting for an exam.
Sometimes I wonder, could we have ever predicted his fate? It was impossible to see it coming, let alone comprehend it.
The teachers knew Hillary well, because he frequently got into trouble. If he was not making noise, he was doing something opposite of what he was supposed to do during class hours.
One day, our class teacher came up with a new tactic. She punished Hillary by sending him to do a Grade 8 class exam. We were only in Grade 5 then. Surprisingly, he did quite well. That week, the conversation shifted from his mischief to his unexpected brilliance.
That became the final memory I had of Hillary.
I got to school one morning as usual, but the classroom felt different. It was silent, eerily so. As I settled in, the news came, Hillary was gone. He had taken his own life the evening before.
Of course, it had to be a lie, a not so funny joke. How could someone so full of life, only 11 years old, take his own life? I had just seen him the previous day after school, laughing and he seemed happy. It made no sense.
I was in denial. How? Why?
Three days later, the school organized a contribution drive for his family. A group of students went to visit them, but I couldn’t bring myself to go.
A week later, there was a mass in his memory. I was there for choir rehearsals, practicing the songs we’d sing, but when the time came, I didn’t attend.
Hillary’s home was along my usual Sunday route to church. During the days of mourning, I passed by his house, saw the open gates and a compound heavy with sorrow, devoid of joy. Each time, the same question echoed in my mind: why did Hillary do it?
Yet, I don’t remember crying, not during the mourning period or even after. All I carried with me was a cloud of mixed emotions, heavy and unresolved.
One slow, sorrowful song we had rehearsed for the mass stayed with me. Every time I sang it or thought of it, the sadness hit me all over again. It brought back memories of Hillary and that choking feeling in my throat, like I was about to cry.
Even now, when I think about it, vivid memories of him resurface, and the same question lingers: why?
Back then, our lives seemed simple; waking up grumpy, going to school, spending hours playing with friends, eating, sleeping, and waking up the next day just to play all over again.
I was experiencing grief for the first time and I had so many unanswered questions. At just 9 years old, I bottled my thoughts, emotions, confusion, everything. I just didn’t know how to react to whatever was going on.
For me nothing about Hillary’s death made sense. All I knew is that he looked happy, cheerful and was a vibrant soul.
It’s true, I didn’t know what happened behind the closed gates of his home or within the walls of his mind. And even on this incident, I didn’t want to chase after rumours about how he did it or why.
I was a scared little girl, afraid that learning the truth would be too much to handle. I feared the nightmares, the weight of his absence, and the pain it might bring.
Loss leaves a deep wound. It always lingers, haunting the minds of those left behind. Every little thing becomes a reminder of the life once lived. When someone is lost to suicide, the pain is even sharper.
Because the question that haunts the ones left behind, over and over, is why?
The world isn’t an easy place. Sometimes, the problems we face feel too big, too heavy to bear. I’ve found myself in situations that felt impossible to overcome. But somehow, I did.
In such moments, I find solace in my faith in God. Every night, I remind myself that tomorrow will come, and this situation will eventually be in the past. Whether it takes a week or a month, I hold on to the hope that there has to be a point that this situation will become a past.
This is my buoy, that always keeps me afloat. Find your buoy, that will keep you away from sinking deep.
Above all, I pray that we never give up on the hope that things will get better. For those who have lost loved ones, I pray you find comfort, always.