I will never know why she did it. I will never be able to process her desire. I will never forget the person she was before she made that decision. She was the most accepting person I'd ever met. I will always remember our first encounter at my house when I was 13. I will always regret not speaking at her funeral to remind people how good of a person she was and that this decision didn't label her. It never hit me as much, until I found a picture of her in my parents house. She'll never exist again. Such a strange feeling.