What Happened to Always

Ten years later, I steeled myself for another assembly at another high school. It hadn’t gotten any easier over the years. I didn’t know if it ever would. But instead of living in regret –if only I had said something sooner, if only I had gone after her at the park, if only I had been there when she needed me, if only, if only, if only – I was doing something. I was touring the country, telling high schoolers my story. Colie’s story. I was letting them know that if they felt the way Colie did, there was help. They could talk to their friends, or their family, or call a hotline. I was telling them that there were always options, and that no matter how hard it seemed, life was the better choice. I wished that I could have done more for Colie, and the what-if’s and if-only’s still haunted me, but I was doing what I could.

That night, in my hotel room, I gazed at the silver picture frame, which still held that picture of Colie.

“I’m sorry, Colie. I’m sorry I didn’t do more for you. But I’m doing something for these kids.” I paused, then kissed my index finger, which I placed against Colie’s ink-and-paper lips.

“This is always, Colie. This is how I will keep you always.”