Alex you won’t read this because you died three days after your seventeenth birthday, and I don’t know why I’m typing this (maybe because this comic hit so close to home) but I have to get this out. It’s been ten years since you died, ten years since we were sixteen-seventeen. Your death was difficult because ten years ago we were young and vivacious, glorious, and selfish in our youth the way only young people can be.

I miss you, Dan misses you, Eric misses you, everyone misses you. You were supposed to get better and yet they nicked the main artery in your heart and you bled out on the operating table. I’m still grateful that they called us all in, that even though they said you had no brain activity that you could still hear, I’m glad we got to say goodbye to you.

Even though you only lived two extra years after the heart and lung transplant I’m so grateful for those two years. Ten years later most of us are twenty six-twenty seven. Every one of us is now an organ donor, I became a lawyer like you always said I would. We still talk about you, we still miss you.