She fought, but could to survive.

22nd April 2015. I remember is like it was yesterday but it feels so long ago. I was talking to a friend in the morning about you, asking if she had heard from you, telling her I was worried about you but at the same time was so proud of you for continuing to pull through. I was sitting in a managers fire meeting, Level 6, we had just been made chief fire wardens (a job that we did not want) and my phone light pinged on indicating I had got a message. It was a Facebook message from you. I could only see the first 20 letters, glimpsed at it then put my phone back in my lap. 20 seconds later my spirit started to feel sick and my eyes glimpsed down again at the message on my screen, my heart pounding as I began to realise what it was. I ran out of the room and down the elevators to Level 3. I bolted into the office, grabbed the phone and called 111. At the same time I was trying to text your Stepmum, telling her what I had read with her reply telling me that your dad was leaving work and driving home now. I continued talking to the police, describing you, reading your message, trying to figure out why you had turned off your location on messanger.. You had never done that before. They were asking me where you could have gone, what you could have taken with you, would you be at home? would you have ran? It was a blur yet so vivid as the police arrived at your house to find your dad stressed with your house turned upside down. You had gone. You had broken into the safe where your parents had kept pills, and you ran. I offered to come help look, but they told me they had every search and rescue team out looking for you. All I could do was sit and wait. I called my mentor, I called your other mentor, I called the church elders ad I got everyone praying. It was the only thing I could do. An hour passed and nothing. 2 hours, 3 hours, 4 hours a day… Soon enough the sun had gone down and they were searching in the night. I didn’t sleep a blink. Your Step mum messaged me asking if I knew that the meeting with your mum didn’t go well. I did know. You had asked me to go with you, but I couldn’t get out of work. I began to scroll through our messages, the thousands that existed across your 2 numbers and facebook. I began to read of all the nights you had messaged me late wanting to give up, I read of how you fought through. I read of all the times you had come clean on things you had done and I read of all the times you conquered. I read of all the times you struggled, all the times you opened up about your darkest secrets, I read all the times you had thanked me, and all the times I told you you could do it. I read back on the very first time you messaged me, telling me you had seen my story and it inspired you. I remembered a card you had given me the week before but I had forgotten to read it. I opened it up with tears streaming down my face. You thanked me, you told me you loved me and that no matter what happens for me to know that I helped you. I then opened my 2015 diary and found it. I found your letter. The only letter you had left. The sun began to rise the next day and still no word. Still no trace, no clues and no word from you. This was weird, you had done this kind of thing before but every time we would find you in time. Every time you would leave something hinting to where you would be, Every time you would eventually answer my call and I could talk to you, find you, hug you. 27 hours after your first message My phone began to ring, it was your stepmum. I swallowed hard and answered. I remember her exact words. “They found her.” In a split second a million thoughts raced through my mind. “It’s not good” she said before breaking down. I immeadtly knew. I knew that this time you had succeed. This time there was no coming back. This time there is no “process” that we had to follow again to try get you back on your feet. Because this time, you were dead. I ran out of work and got home as quickly as possible. I threw everything in my room, I punched my pillow, I cried uncontrollably. My mind was filled with “What if’s”. What if I had gone to that meeting? What if I had opened the message the second I got it? What if I had been a better mentor? What if I had gone to look? What if I called you right away? Your Stepmums words wind in my head, “She has had a lot of people like you come into her life, but we believe you will make the change. You will break the cycle.” But while you were under my mentorship, the cycle didn’t break. It ended. Days pass and I find myself driving to Tauranga to attend your funeral. I walk up to the Maria where you are. Where your friends and family have already been all day. I walk into the room and I see you. I see you lying in the middle of the room surrounded by photos. Surrounded by your friends, your loved ones, your parents. Your Stepmom calls me over to go sit by you. I can’t bring me to look at you, I’m trying to be strong. Your best friend gets up to speak, she breaks down crying and her mum has to jump up beside her to hold her up straight. Your other friend gets up, she tried to sing for you, she breaks down, she falls to the ground looking at you. Your brother has been sitting there ll night, eventually he gets up the courage to speak. He gets out 4 words. “I love you sister” He falls to his knees, your dad rushes up and stands with him. Your dad looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks. He didn’t cry, he was just blank. Blank like his entire world had been ripped out from underneath him. I cant bring myself to get up and talk, but I do pluck up the courage to look at you. To see your beautiful face, your lifeless body lying there, free, at peace. You don’t know the tears going on around you, but yours have stopped running. It hit midnight and I give you one last look, knowing it was the last time I was going to see you.

Your last words to me will forever by close to my heart: “I’m sorry Jazz for failing you ad letting you down. I can’t do this anymore. I love you so much and am grateful for everything that you did for me. I’m sorry. I love you. Goodbye <3 “