Dear Lauren,

Someone recently told me that someone was making jokes about suicide. I'm shaking.

How could she do that? Doesn't she know how your death affected me? Affected your family?

Doesn't she know what went through your head when you made that decision? The pain you felt that pushed you over the edge?

Doesn't she know how much I cry over you, spending my nights drowning in tears? How empty headed is she to think this is okay? How could anyone else think that this is acceptable?

You're dead, and she's laughing about killing herself!

I'm so angry! I wish I could pull her over to my life and show her what's happening! I wish she could read this book and see how dumb she is. I can already imagine what I would say and do.

I'd shout her name and show her your family, weeping every night. I'd show her what went through your head, the misery people made you feel. I'd show her Taylor's friend, crying at the alter when she told us about her death. I'd shove this book in her face and scream at her.

"Look at me!" I'd yell. "Does it look like I'm okay? Do you still think this is a joke?"

If she didn't stop by then, I'd show her your obituary that I always keep by my side and my angle bookmark. I'd show her the river of tears that appeared at your memorial. Finally, I'd show her your ashes.

"This used to be the body of the nicest 13 year old girl you'd ever know," I'd tell her, watching her face as she realized you never even got to turn 14. "She was supposed to be on the varsity cheerleading team next year. She was the most amazing person you'd ever know, but thanks to people like you she'll never get to experience all the things she dreamed of or deserved."

I wish I could tell her all of that stuff, or see her face when/if she ever read this book.

I wish people like that didn't exist.