For an angel above

His name was Daniel, he was five when he died of Leukemia. We were in the same class, I didn’t really know him but I think I chased him around the playground a couple of times. I have a picture somewhere of him, I’m pretty sure it’s in one of my dad’s ‘memory boxes’. I miss him, he would be sixteen if he was still alive. Even though he died a long time ago and I didn’t really know him, my heart aches at the memories. I remember distinctly the morning his parents and counselors told us he passed away, and his parents crying as they told us about him. I don’t know why he had to die, I wonder if anyone but his family and friends remember him, I do.

Every time I think his name or bring back a memory I see his parents crying, the little boy in the photograph and my eyes tear up. I don’t cry though; I never do, not anymore at least. I’m a big girl, and big girls don’t cry so I hold it back. I’m not afraid of snapping, I know I won’t that’s not like me. He was so young, so … he shouldn’t have died.

I heard in a movie (and then there was one) that the second were born, we’re dying. It’s true, every second that passes is another grain of sand slipping through the hour glass of our life. Life is short, short and cruel but not without purpose though. Take Daniel for example, I still remember him, still think about him. I have learned many things from his death, he taught me that life is short and to the point. I think about him every night and wonder who he would be and if we could have been friends had he had more time and not gotten sick. I hope he is happy where is, R.I.P