I can't believe this happened. I can't believe you did this to yourself. Did you really think that would be the solution to your problems? Annie, why couldn't you just learn to stay out of trouble? You're not a bad person. Why do you do bad things? I'm a smart man, but I can't figure you out.
I'm sorry I haven't visited you lately, I'm just hurt. Why didn't you tell me? It wasn't hard to figure out what you were, but I didn't want to believe it. I wanted to give you a chance. Remember when I told you that I thought you were actually pretty nice? I meant that. Why did you have to prove me wrong?
You thought that locking yourself away from the world would give you freedom, but it didn't. Now you're a prisoner in your own body.
You've always been quiet, so it doesn't seem that different. I was always the one to lead our conversations. You're very patient and listen when I ramble on about things you don't care about. Or do you care? I think you pretend that you don't care, but deep down you do. Oh here I go rambling on again.
It's your birthday. At least that's what the calendar says. You're frozen in time. I brought you a cake and a gift anyways. I asked Bertolt what to get you for your birthday. He looked at me funny at first, but then he said you would probably like something to read. I didn't know you liked to read. I got you three books. Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov, Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy, and Fountainhead by Ayn Rand. You seem like someone who would like Russian authors.
I tried to pretend like nothing has changed, but everything has changed. You've always been quiet, but your eyes used to light up when we would talk. Are they still lighting up under those heavy lids of yours? Do you even hear me Annie? Please say something.
I really liked you. I can't believe it took this long for me to say it. I guess it's easier to tell you now that you can't hear me. I guess I'm not even really telling you. I'm telling what's left of you.
16 is such a young age…You're still 16 to me. Not 20. You haven't changed a bit. I however, have. I'm a little taller. A little wiser. I've accepted the fact that you're not going to wake up. I've accepted the fact that you're not even sleeping. I've accepted the fact that you're not even you. That is why I am cutting you off of life support. I know I don't have the legal right, but it's the only way I can move on. It's the only way you can move on. That is why I'm disconnecting you from your oxygen tank.
What's it like to die? That's the last question I have for you. It's the question I'm asking the 5 foot 2 inch girl who is resting in the casket in front of me. It's kind of funny how much closer I am to you now than I was 4 years ago. I fell in love with you. I forgave you. I may have never kissed you, held your hand, or bought you a ring. But I visited you everyday since the week after you shot yourself in the head to escape the crimes that you committed.
