Red and Blue make Purple

positive-suggestions

someone would miss you. remember that.

midnight-rail

u wanna fucking bet

positive-suggestions

someone would; people you don’t even know too well would miss you, people who met you only once or twice, people who you barely talk to, and anyone you’ve ever been close to. You would be missed.

duhke

the person who makes your coffee every day would miss seeing your face and bantering back and forth with you.

the person who you see every day on your way to work or school would miss exchanging smiles with you.

the cashier at the store you go to every so often would miss asking you about your day and hearing your descriptive explanation of it.

the person you sit next to in class would miss hearing your little remarks.

the librarian would miss seeing your face when you enter the library and head straight for the section you always go to.

your teachers would miss seeing you in their classes. they’d miss your quick answers or shyness. they’d miss the way your face lights up when you get an answer correct or how it twists into confusion when you don’t understand the question.

your friends who you see every day would miss talking to you, miss your smile, your face, everything. they’d miss being around you and ranting to you and hearing you rant to them.

if you were gone, how would they react?

the person who makes your coffee would go to make it when someone else came in who ordered something similar and almost write your name on it. they would nearly forget to ask them for their name, and would have to stop themselves from calling out yours.

the person you pass by would wonder why you suddenly weren’t there. as days turned into weeks, they’d figure it out and get mad because if only they’d finally had said “hi” then maybe you wouldn’t have done it.

the cashier would wonder what happened, if you started going to another place, if you moved, etc. after a few months, they may, too, put the pieces together.

the person you sat next to in class would look to your now empty seat at a time where you would’ve made a remark. their eyes would widen when they found out the news, and they would miss you instantly.

the librarian would either wonder when you’d come to the library next, or they’d hear your name, like the rest of the school. you always looked so cheerful and excited when you headed towards “your” section, so why?

your teachers would most likely gasp, hand over their mouth when they were told the news. you were always such a good student, and they had always liked all of their students. but to hear the news would devastate them, maybe to the point where they would blame themselves.

and your friends. they couldn’t tell; you always hid it so well with smiles and happy stories and cheering up them. they would be angry at themselves for not have asking you if you were okay that day, for not getting to know you more, for not doing anything they could’ve to stop you, even though they knew they couldn’t have. they would blame themselves the most, because they knew you for years. you were so close to them and them to you, but they couldn’t even figure out that you weren’t okay.

i’m not saying that these would all be your fault, that’s not what i’m saying at all. what i am is that you would be missed. everyone who’d ever met you or talked to you or even glanced your way would miss you.

so never say that you wouldn’t be missed.

cxarino

Am a teacher. Can confirm. Last summer, we lost a student. He wasn’t even in any of my classes, but he would have been this year. As it was, I mostly just saw him in the halls or in other teachers’ classes. To be honest, he was a… challenging student. He didn’t quite fit in with his peers, and he wasn’t exactly the teacher’s pet in any of his classes either. But he. Was. LOVED. He still is.

When a student dies, the teachers find out before the student body does. It gives us a chance to grieve in private, so that we can be strong for the students when they hear. Even though it was summer, we were all instantly back to work for this, calling each other, gathering information - who knew, who didn’t, how are his friends and family? We all sobbed. We called each other, to make sure all the other teachers knew. Teachers he’d never had donated money to his family and miss his smile in the halls. Teachers who hadn’t had him for years found out about it and donated money to the family. Dozens of us went to the viewing, and dozens more to the funeral. And that’s only the teachers and staff, not counting the other students.

I was there behind the scenes when his favourite teacher made plans for how to work with his friends when school started. I helped her develop a plan to make things suck less for the siblings who are still at that school, reminded every day that now he’s not there to smile at them, to sit with them at lunch, to introduce them to new teachers or classmates. I talk to the teachers who still miss his unexpected facts and his unique demeanour. Did you know his English teacher still has a folder with his name on it? She couldn’t bear to get rid of it, because it’s… his.

We don’t just like him because he’s gone now. We liked him because he was… him. And having seen what it was to have him - challenging, unusual him - we decided we liked it. And now that we’ve lost it, we are sad. We are sad that we’ll never see him again and hear his perspective. We are sad that he’ll never again pipe up in a conversation with something we never expected he’d actually understand or remember. We are sad that we’ll never get to fight with him to keep up his grades or help him through getting his first job or losing his first girlfriend. We are sad that we’ll never see him cross that stage and move on to helping a whole new set of people in all the tiny, everyday ways he couldn’t possibly have known he was helping.

Yes, we miss him. And we’d miss you, too. Because we love you. Here and now. As you are. Even if we don’t always let it show.

You are loved.

See, that’s what the app is perfect for.