the first time i met her the sky was pouring and i was standing at the bus stop at the front of my high school , reallyyy wishing i had brought my umbrella but it was me and my H&M UCLA crewneck against the world. she walked up like the rain was her stage, instead of hiding she just started splashing in the puddles, her shoes soaking, her laughter echoing under the roof sign of our high school , and i just stared for a second before stepping in too, water flying everywhere, and just like that two strangers became kids again (funny how easy it was for her to make the world feel lighter)

on the bus we sat dripping in silence for fifteen minutes and then she turned, her eyes warm, she pointed at my freshly dyed red hair and said, “i love your hair, it’s so pretty” while also pointing to her freshly dyed red hair. “ my name is wafaa. what’s yours?” and that was it

the beginning of the most important friendship of my life

junior year was wrecking me, i was surrounded by the wrong people in places i didn’t fit, my mental health stretched to breaking, but wafaa gave me a reason to breathe, she had this smile that could make even a teacher forget their bad day, and she never let sadness stay in a room if she could help it. she became my best friend in record time

but then my 17th birthday happened, i had a crush on one of our guy friends and she knew, she also knew how much it meant to me, and that night she kissed him, i felt betrayed in a way i couldn’t put into words, anger burned through me and i slipped the words, “you’re both dead to me.” i thought it was just drama, just teenage rage, i never could’ve imagined what those words would mean just 48 hours later.

february 10, she didn’t show up to school, i had already decided that was the day i’d apologize, that we’d talk it out, because even in my anger life without her made no sense, but her seat stayed empty. in seventh period the counselor pulled me into the office with a group of adults i didn’t know, their faces heavy and serious, they asked questions about our fight, if i knew where she was, and my stomach twisted with dread. the same dread you get when you know soemthing terrible is going to happen

after school i climbed into my stepmom’s car and the counselor called as we drove away, ( literally hadn’t even exited the school grounds yet ) and tbh i don’t remember much of that phone call except the words that’ll always be engraved into my heart :

“her body has been found, and unfortunately, she has passed away.”

that was the first time i ever understood what it meant when people said, “my heart dropped,” i screamed, i cried so hard i couldn’t breathe, my stepmom cried too. wafaa had been at our house so often, part of our family in her own way, it didn’t feel real . my sister cried , everyone affected by the pain of her death

the funeral came soon after, it was held in a mosque, her family’s decision, but wafaa wasn’t muslim…she had been christian, but her family never accepted that, the service felt hollow, suffocating, like she was erased even in death, and then came the final insult…

her family lied to their relatives overseas, they said she was killed in a hate crime, they couldn’t admit she had taken her own life

quick fast forward to a year later before I go back to this time period : i went with our friend ash to find her grave, we brought flowers expecting to find a stone with her name carved into it, something to anchor our grief, but there was nothing, no stone, no marker, just grass, her family hadn’t cared enough to even acknowledge her resting place, i knelt there pressing flowers into the earth, sobbing into that empty plot of grass, it was like she had been erased, like she had never existed outside of us who loved her

back to this period , grief swallowed me whole, the guilt was unbearable, i replayed every second ; the fight, my words, the 48 hours of silence, i told myself i had failed her, i tried to end my life five different times in those months after she died, i couldn’t carry the weight of knowing she was gone and that i had pushed her away in her last days

i was pulled from school, labeled a mental liability, they placed me inpatient but the pain came with me, and then covid hit, lockdown pressed down on me like a coffin, no escape, no distraction, just me and the hollow ache that she was gone

on may 13, 2020, i decided i couldn’t take another day, i sat on my bed with a stolen bottle of expensive alcohol from my the dining room cabinet while trying to avoid the ring camera facing the room, a half-open container of tylenol, and notes written out for everyone i thought needed to know why, i swallowed handfuls until the room spun and i sank into sleep

and then she came to me

wafaa stood in front of me, her red curls crowned with dried silver roses, a dress flowing around her like something out of a dream, she cried, begging me to wake up, she told me to live, to do everything she couldn’t, to see the world, fall in love, break and rebuild, grow old, raise children, make mistakes, learn, heal, she told me i had to do it for both of us

when i woke up my face was wet with tears, next to me lay a dried rose, i had no idea how it got there, it looked like the roses i had left at the parking garage she had passed away at , but it was there and it changed something in me, i still can’t explain it but i have this rose till this day pressed inside a birthday card she had given me with her handwriting still touching the dried up petals

still, grief didn’t end there, it never did, i started having dreams of us together, driving endlessly down i-10, the highway stretched forever and we’d talk like old times, i’d catch her up on everything , my anger, my heartbreak, my small joys and when it was time i’d drop her off at a rest stop, she never followed me further, a reminder that she couldn’t keep going in this life but i could still visit her in those spaces

the last time i dreamed of her was after seeing photos of my dad’s marriage that tore my family apart, in the dream i sat in the car crying, screaming, raging, she sat next to me, patient, comforting, the way she did when she was alive, those dreams feel like the closest thing to the afterlife touching me, i don’t understand why i get them but i cherish them, because in those moments she isn’t gone

it’s been five years since that february, people like to say time heals but it doesn’t, it just reshapes, grief is still here but it’s changed form, some days it’s a whisper, some days it’s a scream, and sometimes it’s silence so heavy it feels like drowning

i wish i could say it made me stronger or wiser or grateful, sometimes it did, but sometimes it just left me raw, what i know is i loved her, i still do, and even in her absence she lives in me: through the choices i make, the breaths i take, the fact that i’m still here, even when i don’t always want to be

she deserved the world, she deserved love and gentleness and truth, she didn’t get enough of any of those things, but i will carry her with me for the rest of my life, she’s in the puddles, the sunsets, the roses, the quiet drives, my friend’s laughter , my mom’s love , my boyfriend’s gentle guitar strumming , the warm embrace of the sun when I wake up , the moments where grief and love blur into one

i look back to a conversation i had with my trauma counselor back in 2020. he asked me

“ what does grief mean to you “

i didn’t have an answer at the time . but after reading this and touching base with this experience of my life , I can tell you what it means to me .

grief is love that never had a chance to stop,

so cry, laugh, tell your friends and family you love them, break no contact, don’t live so angrily. hug the people close to you the tightest, dance in rain puddles with strangers. because you are never guaranteed another day with the people you love.

xoxo, Lisita

if you or someone you know is struggling with suicidal thoughts, please know you’re not alone in this. reaching out can feel impossible sometimes, but there are people out there who want to listen and help carry the weight with you.

in the u.s., you can dial 988 to connect with the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline — it’s free, confidential, and available 24/7.

if you’d rather text, you can message “HOME” to 741741 to reach the Crisis Text Line and talk to a trained counselor.
for LGBTQ+ support, you can call The Trevor Project at 1-866-488-7386 or text “START” to 678-678.
if you’re outside the u.s., you can find international hotlines at https://findahelpline.com, which lists crisis numbers in many countries.

you are not too much. you are not a burden. you matter right here, as you are.