I remember the heat of the sweltering June sun. I remember hoping to grow  in my faith at Alto Frio Baptist encampment. I remember meeting him.

Tall, tan and dreamy, there he was, Thomas Ray Vickery, my Mr. Right.

In the blink of an eye, Tray became that ray of sunshine that made each day worth living.

He was my best friend; I told him all my secrets and dreams.

We were planning our lives together and fell in love, despite the common misconceptions of young people not being able to be in real, loving relationships.

There was nothing I wanted more than to be with him at all times.

I woke up on March 1, 2012 and got ready for school like usual, yet I could not help but feel like something was missing.

There was not a text from Tray there. I was not used to waking up and not seeing something along the lines of “Good Morning Princess”.

That day at school it seemed like everything that could go wrong, did.

All I could do was pray that this day would be over soon. I checked my phone, hoping to hear from Tray.

Never would I have thought a few simple words could destroy everything that I was, but they did.

It was a message from his sister Laurel that read, “Hey Camryn, I am not sure if you heard or not, but my brother is dead.”

Everything seemed to freeze. My head ached and I could not get myself to believe it since just the day before I talked to him and he was perfectly fine.

 Tray was driving on his way to work and an 18 wheeler hit him straight on. He was dead on impact.

All I could think was that this was it, this was the lowest I could ever feel, but yet again I was wrong.

He was my whole world and now he was gone. For some reason I felt as if it was my fault.

No matter what anyone said, I had it imprinted in my head that I was the reason that he was gone.

I spent most of my days smiling and trying to make everyone else happy; in some twisted way I thought that this false optimism would be my salvation.

If I make others happy, then all of my pain will slowly fade away, right? Wrong.

I could not forgive myself, and I was not exactly sure I could, or even wanted to live without him.

How could such a good person die so young? Why him? Why was it not me?

Day after day I asked myself these gut wrenching questions. After constantly fighting with myself, I finally realized that it was not my fault, and that he was not completely gone.

Robert Benchley said it best with, “Death ends a life. Not a relationship.”

I experienced pain that I did not think was possible, and I had to hold it all in. I did not want to burden people with my problems, and none of my family seemed to understand.

Dealing with such hardships alone for so long has just become exhausting, and I decided it was time to tell my story.

I am not asking for your sympathy by any means, but this is a pain no one deserves to go through by themselves.

So this is for you, all of you, any of you that have ever lost someone you loved, maybe even someone you just simply knew, do not ever let anyone tell you it is not okay to be upset. Cry. It is good to cry.

Do not forget to smile because the person who you lost would not want anything less.

And when you are walking through these halls, do not be too quick to judge, and always remember that a simple smile can make a complete difference in someone’s day.