I guess I've never really had someone I knew that well die. My grandfather died when I was in the ninth grade, but I hadn't had much contact with him. It didn't strike me as odd that I didn't see him anymore, because I had never really seen much of him in the first place. And he was old. Somehow, that matters. I miss his laughter and his wit, but the lack of his presence isn't a strange thing.
I keep imagining her face enclosed in the ground, underneath dirt. And I want to cry.