The Watsons Go to Birmingham - Personal Essay

When I was only 12 years old, I lost my very best friend to suicide. It was not only the first time I experienced a death, but it was a death that I wish I could have prevented. I don’t think my heart will ever quite heal from the loss of my beautiful friend and although she is gone, a part of I still remember that day like it was yesterday, when my her will live on through me.

My mom came rushing in my room with the bad news about my best friend death. My vibrant, hilarious, loyal, beautiful best friend was gone.

Jessica and I met on the first day of sixth grade. We sat next to each other in homeroom and shared every class that day. I was a short, weird 12-year-old who loved to wear boy clothes; Jessica was a tall, smart, sassy girl whose wardrobe was ten times better than mine, I latched on immediately.

I fed off of Jessica's confidence and curiosity. Things came easily to her, people gravitated towards her, and she always seemed to be caught up in the center of some exciting scheme. I just observed from the sidelines, with Jessica looking over her shoulder periodically to make sure I was okay and having fun.

There was another side to Jessica that she didn't always let me see. At times, she was confused about her own feelings and didn't know how to talk about them. And I didn't know enough to ask.

I did know that she got depressed easily and took medication. Jessica needed to see both a therapist for treatment and separate doctors for medication.

Even though Jessica didn't share details of her illness with me, I always knew something was going on. But I avoided her struggles because it was just easier to ignore something I didn't understand. I was only 12 I didn’t really know what was going on.

I try to imagine how Jessica was feeling in the final moments of her life and it makes me crumble to think how alone she felt. Sometimes I feel guilty for not