A Teen’s Guide to Saying Goodbyes
I sat on my bed, emotionless as my friend texted me, “he’s dead.”
A few months back, I’d learned that Jayden, my childhood friend, had been diagnosed with a serious health issue. We’d been friends since the first day of second grade, and growing up, we’d always hang out, whether that was playing together during recess or watching Despicable Me 3 back when it came out in theaters. As we transitioned to high school, we talked less. I moved to a different school, and we focused on different extracurriculars, but I’d always assumed there’d be time to reconnect.
So when I initially received the news about his worsening condition, I didn’t think too much about it. As a fifteen-year-old who’d never experienced grief or loss, the thought of losing one of the first friendships I’d ever formed was unimaginable.
That was until Spring 2023, when I received the news from our mutual friend. To be honest, I felt numb when I first heard it: I didn’t cry, my stomach didn’t drop, and I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to feel. For the first few weeks, I felt more guilty that I wasn’t grieving “properly” than I did actually reflecting on his death. When Jayden’s mom invited me the next month to attend his Celebration of Life, I hesitated. If I didn’t even cry, could I really call myself a friend? But my parents convinced me to go, to say my last goodbyes.
At the Celebration, instead of dwelling on our pain, Jayden’s mom focused on remembering all the positive moments about him. As the event approached its end, she asked if I and a couple of other friends would like to share a few words.
I stepped forward, but I had no idea what I was supposed to say. I’d been a competitive speech and debater for a couple of years, so I began by curating my words carefully, trying to avoid saying anything that might offend the audience. But as I continued, I realized that even if what I said was proper, it wasn’t real.
Slowly, I let the actual memories of Jayden flow in: talking about the stupid time we stole colored pencils from our fifth-grade teacher, or the little inside jokes we used to make. But the more I spoke impromptu, the more my emotions began to swell. By the end, Jayden’s mom rushed over to hug me. That was the first time I let myself cry.
I realized that what I did at Jayden’s Celebration of Life is what so many people, especially teens, are missing: having a safe place to express our grief. What I said that day was far from perfect; I stumbled all over the place, expressed my frustrations about him, but saying these things out loud validated my emotions.
That’s why I created Goodbyes Never Said, an online platform for anyone to express their words anonymously to their loved ones. Through digital “post-its,” it’s a safe space to say our words however we want without feeling judged, because there is no right way to grieve. Sometimes it’s sadness, sometimes it’s anger, but what’s important is having a place to channel these emotions healthily, and understanding that for everyone going through the grief process, you are not alone.
One of the first post-its that stood out after I began this project read:
“To Mom: I know I got to tell you thank you for everything you did for me, but I never said I was sorry…Sorry for all of the times I got frustrated and responded to you negatively. I know it wasn’t you, it was the disease. I love you and miss you so much.”
Reading this post-it, I felt a sense of solidarity, knowing that even across the internet, there are so many real people going through this same process with me. It’s these moments, when we show our vulnerability and our faults, that help us the most in the grieving process.
As this initiative expands, my mission is for people and youth across the world to understand that it’s okay to not feel okay, but to know that eventually, things will be okay. I hope when people visit Goodbyes Never Said, they leave feeling less alone. That they understand it’s okay not to grieve the “right” way, because grief is messy, unplanned, and it comes in waves.
I still cry every once in a while when I think about Jayden. Sometimes it hits me at random moments: scrolling past an old photo, hearing a song we used to joke about, or remembering something he said years ago. But I get that it doesn’t mean I’m stuck. It just means I’m human.
To anyone navigating their own grief journey: know that grief isn’t linear. It’s okay not to cry right away. It’s okay to randomly laugh. It’s okay to feel angry or numb. Don’t feel pressured to grieve a certain way just because that’s what you think you’re supposed to do. Understanding our emotions takes time, and sometimes, the words don’t come until much later. And remember, there’s no perfect way to say goodbye.
