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It was 3:00am when I got the call. The call that I’ve been dreading. The call we’ve all been dreading. The Narcan didn’t work this time and you were on your way to the hospital. I got in my car, sick to my stomach, because I knew what would be waiting for me when I got there. Yet, somehow, all at once I hoped they had revived you. I mean you’ve survived this before right? Surely you could make it. Surely you’d have at least one more chance to fight the monster you’ve been facing. Even as they take me to the back room and I know then that you’re dead, I wait for the doctor to tell me that I’m wrong. He never does. Then it’s time to see you. You look like you, but empty. I suppose that it makes sense. As I stand there I start to notice all the things you’re missing: A smile so big your eyes are almost shut. The color in your cheeks. Warmth radiating from your skin. The laugh that made me smile. The voice that brought me comfort. The words that gave me peace. But that’s when it hit me: You were missing something else. That monster you died fighting, you’d be happy to hear that he died too. The eyes that squinted when you smiled were no longer laced with pain. There was no quiver in your voice, no turmoil, no shame. I couldn’t see the tired face from all the nights your mind denied you peace. There were no protests from your lips when I told you everything would be okay. I couldn’t hear a single thing. Though selfishly I’d take you back just the way you were, quiet’s all you’ve ever wanted, friend. You’ve finally been heard.