I have been sitting on my bedroom floor for what feels like years, staring at old text messages. The last message sent (or should I say the last 20) is from me?They all went unanswered.Nobody ever really talks about grief, maybe because it is too hard to define, but you will know when you feel it. We will all feel it at some stage in our lives, whether it is for a pet, family member, or friend, but what we do not ever imagine is what it feels like to lose a young person.I have lost my grandparents, and yes, I was sad, but losing you came with a very different sort of pain. When an elderly person dies, it is sad; that sadness comes from missing that person’s presence, but when a young person suddenly passes, you don’t just grieve them, but you also grieve the life they could have lived, the memories they could have made, and the person they could have become. An old person’s death is a shame, but a young person’s death is a tragedy.I have read every message between us since the sixth of September 2021 until the sixth of November 2023. I could not tell you how many times I have done this over the last two years, how many times I have listened to the last voicemail you sent, just to hear your voice for fear of forgetting it. I listen to it once more, then read the messages again, hoping to engrave them into my brain, so I will never forget. My eyes linger on the last message sent; it was the day we buried you and that day a piece of me was buried along with you. I remember waking up that morning and realising it was all real, that I was not dreaming and that I was never going to see you again. I called you three times, every time the call went straight to voicemail. Now I sit here, two years later, and I call you one last time. My stomach still drops, when I hear your voicemail, part of me still hopes you will pick up all these years later. I listen to your voice telling me to leave a message. Then I listen to the voice message you left three days before you left. I smile when I hear your voice giving out to me for not answering and demanding that I call you back as soon as I can. I curse myself for not having listened; I never thought it would be my last opportunity to talk to you. I feel tears well up in my eyes as I leave your contact, knowing that this is my last time reading it. Silently crying, I type out my last message.“I miss you”, then I delete your contact from my phone and with it your voicemail.I suppose we are lucky we can grieve. To have loved and to have been loved so deeply that we can still feel its power so many years later is quite a blessing.This essay was published in The Irish Times Fighting Words magazine, a collection of stories, poems and essays by young and international writers.If you are looking for emotional support, please email jo@samaritans.ie or call on 116 123