To Mehdy:

            I open my yearbook to page 22. Top row, 3^rd picture on the right. That’s Mehdy Hazheer, and yet not Mehdy Hazheer at all. How could you tell from a photo of a young man smiling in a striped polo how much that person means to this world? How could you look at any picture of someone on the fragile precipice of life, struggling so unbelievably hard to hold on with shaking fingertips? How can you watch, helpless, as someone falls to a place you can no longer reach, and know that there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it? What can you do when a life is lost: a son, a friend, a brother, and an inspiration to us all.

            When Mehdy fell, we all fell with him. Our worlds have upended from a refreshing dive into summer to striving to stay afloat through all the tears and sorrow that threaten to wash us away with Mehdy’s passing. We need to stay strong, though the current threatens to drag us under; we must stay strong. Strong for Mehdy; strong for the Hazheer’s; strong for each other, and strong for anyone who has ever had a loved one slip away.

            I can’t honestly say I really knew Mehdy. Or know Mehdy. I refuse to speak of him in the preterit. He was here, he is here, and he will always be here. He’s 2 years above me, a senior. I had the unbelievable fortune to meet him this year. We had Student Legislative Assembly together, the same committee: environmental. Although I’m glad for the time I had with him, I’d still give anything for it to be longer. It simply wasn’t enough. He’s anything you could want in a friend and more. You can’t help yourself when you’re with him; you laugh. I never saw Mehdy upset. I don’t even know if he has any other expression besides a smile or a thoughtful contemplation. He’s always thinking.

            I love his thoughts. I love his crazy ideas. For the big SLA meeting of the year, he had this plan for everyone in his committee. He figured, since everyone already hated the environmental group so much, we should mess with them all and bring in a huge feast to display proudly and lustfully on our table. He was so motivated by this scheme; it was infectious. With his enthusiasm, beyond compare in anyone I’ve ever known, he coaxed us all into signing up for bringing in sweets and snacks.

            The next morning, on the actual day of the assembly, Mehdy was late. He was a co-chair, and all of us were getting restless that he hadn’t shown to join in on our scrumptious banquet. Finally, he arrived, toting two gigantic gallons of still piping hot chocolate. Complete with whipped cream. Even in the face of what is happening now, the memory makes me smile. He was here.

In the photo, though you can see only a bit of Mehdy, the joy he emits at all times is evident in the smiles and laughs by all in view.

            The bond of love is in many ways, much stronger than the discord and destruction of death. At times it feels as if death drains away everything good until only darkness is left, and though even the most powerful of love cannot prevent loss, love is still one of the things left untouched, unpolluted. The other is memory. Memories of Mehdy will live on, long surpassing his time here on Earth, which was entirely too short. Impressions much deeper have been made in our souls by the love and memories we share with Mehdy than the death that threatens to take so much away. He is still here.

Do not allow the darkness to engulf you; because we all know in our hearts, Mehdy would not want it to be this way. Never has there been an individual I’ve known with such faith, and such belief at this young of an age. For Mehdy, life was a journey, and he had his journey planned, beginning with step one: Harvard this fall. Technically there was a precursor to step one: high school graduation. He wrote a speech on the beautiful city of Allah, and now he’s there. He’s in a place beyond suffering, beyond pain, and he has reached his destination. If Mehdy were to speak now, I believe he would simply say that this was the next step, this was what Allah wanted of him, and it would be wrong of him to not obey the call.

In the most difficult of times, it can seem unimaginable to see the light in a situation, but Mehdy could. The loss we all suffer can only be healed if we keep Mehdy alive in our thoughts, our memories, and our attitudes. He was there for us, be it making a joke out of the antagonism some have towards certain legislative committees, or being someone to talk to on the worst of days to brighten your outlook. It’s our turn to be what Mehdy was for all of us now, towards the Hazheer’s and everyone we get the privilege to meet. If we do this, Mehdy is not gone. He was here, he is here, and he will always be here.