Now I understand, Liz...

Last school year, my roommate found out about the untimely death of a girl she had known from church.

Yesterday, I found out about the death of Abby. We were close friends in elementary school. The close part didn't last through middle school, but we were friendly through high school graduation. The best memory I have with her is from 3rd grade, I think, when we were especially close. We took the mattress from the pull out couch in my living room and road it down the stairs for hours. We were laughing so hard as we bumped and bruised along.

Now we're 22. She has had 2 babies, 2 boys. She, along with her current boyfriend, was found dead in their house on Sunday. The boys were in there. Oh my gosh...for how long? What did they see?

I don't know why she had to die.

I can't reconcile in my mind this thing, Death, that takes and takes and never gives back. That glories in the stupid mistakes of humans.

I don't understand why I live, and she doesn't. Why I am safe, and she is not. Why her children might have to grow up in the care of social services.

I just want to cry, to scream though I don't necessarily know why. I haven't spoken to Abby in at least four years, so why does this even phase me?

Because I know her middle name - what the F. stood for. And I know she hated it and never told anyone what it really was.

Because I have hanging on my wall in my bedroom, something she wrote about racial discrimination when we were in high school. It was published anonymously, but I knew she wrote it.
It began..."I have a name"