You know, I never really came to terms with death. Until today when I saw that name engraved on that silver metal name plate on top of the gray shining casket. I kept reassuring myself that he was still alive in that casket, still breathing as if he were just sleeping and all of us laughing at all of the memories we were talking about amongst ourselves. But when that casket finally shut, I realized that it was serious. That this 24 year old man was going to be buried 6 feet under the ground as soon as we walked out of that chapel. That this 24 year old man would not get to live the rest of his long life ahead of him, the journey that he was so anxious and excited to complete. This 24 year old, spectacular, talented man, whom painted the most beautiful creations I have ever seen come out of anyone I know just for all of that to come to a complete stop.

This is where I begin to question, why would you write that poem in your journal? I mean, I know you were somewhat of a writer, but how did you know that this was going to happen. As if you knew we were all going to be heart broken that you were just going to fade off into another world and leave us forever. As if you knew that you would "bid us farewell" like you said in your poem. I never want to find out why this happened, I never want to know why you did this to everybody, all I want to know is what compelled you to write that poem. What came over you to pick that out of your head and chicken scratch that in your journal? I can't wait until one day, I can hopefully join you, wherever you are that is, I'm not saying it's heaven I'm not saying it's Hell and I'm not saying it's purgatory. What I'm saying is, nobody knows for sure where we go when we die, nobody knows if we just lie there in that casket and that's that, or our ashes just stand still in that urn in the living room, nobody knows until it happens to you. So, Michael, wherever you are, I want you to know that one day I will be there, and I want you to ready yourself because I'm going to cry and I'm going to laugh and I'm going to hug you as hard as I possibly can and then I'm going to be angry, because I loved you very much and so did everyone else I know and you weren't supposed to have your mother bury you. You were supposed to bury her. You were too young and too much of a unique person to go like this, and I hope that one day you'll visit us in some form and let us all know that we should grieve no more, because until then, I will continue.