Love. Risk. Brain Bleed.

When he first came speeding down to the house, half-off the driveway, we thought for sure he'd crash into the garage. Everyone rushed to the car, but I stayed rooted in the spot, numb out of fear.

He stepped out of the car, dressed in a classy suit, I started to breathe again. Until he collapsed, barely being caught by the guy next to him. I managed to unglue myself enough to lift my hands to my face in astonishment, before going statue-like again.

My heart starting pumping faster than I thought possible when they helped into the truck and drove him out of there as fast as allowed. I managed to get a glimpse of him, looking sicker than I'd ever seen anyone.

"Guys, we should pray." I don't know who said it, but it jolted me out of my stupor enough for me to walk over and join them. All I could do was bow my head and add my fervent prayers to those being said already.

I heard someone walk past us, but barely noticed. I didn't care that the limo driver was there, probably uncomfortable by our prayer circle. I didn't care that I was the only girl amongst the guys. All I cared about was my friend, who was on his way to the ER to find out exactly what was going on.

We went through the planned motions of the night, and even had fun with our progressive dinner and limo rides. We kept informed by the men who were with our friend at the hospital. We never were really sure what the problem was, just that it was very serious and mainly located in his head.

Another head injury. The second this year. The first had been my mom's. She'd recovered fast and perfect, but I was worried it would be more difficult this time.

The most information we got was that it was some sort of brain bleed that had originated from problems he'd had with his head ever since childhood. All I could think was, so that is where all those headaches came from.

I don't know how many times we prayed that night. Not enough, it felt like. I didn't care how long it took, I just wanted my friend back to his cheery self.

The next day we had more information. It was serious, but the doctors seemed confident that with time, they could help him heal completely. He was admitted to a special hospital that dealt specifically with nuerology.

Since I was staying with my buddy and her family, I accompanied them on the long trek to the hospital. It was nearly an hour away, and we were stuck in traffic most of the time, so I had a couple hours to get even more nervous than I already was.

When we arrived, my heart was beating out of my chest. All I could think of was the account of my friend looking terrified in his last concious moments before being airlifted. He'd been unconcious ever since and though I desperately wanted to see him, I also dreaded it.

We waited for hours before we were allowed to see him. We had food and hung out with our large group in the waiting room. Friends came and went, some for support, some to see him.

Our turn finally came.

When we were admitted to the room, the scene before me was so much worse than I had prepared myself for. At first I stood and stared. His beautiful mass of dark, curly hair had been shaven off, and we could easily see the place where they'd removed some of the bone, as the skin was palpitating with each heartbeat. He was covered in cords and all sorts of other medical doodads, and a thin blanket lay over his legs. I wanted to run home and grab my thick, Mexican blanket to put over him, as it was chilly in the hospital.

When my friend's mom took his limp hand, it was almost too much. I wanted to run away and sit with him, holding his hand, at the same time. I'd made it a rule not to cry in public, and I almost broke it during that heart-wrenching visit. But when my friend started to cry, I was able to prevent my own tears from spilling by comforting her.

We prayed over him and asked the nurse about his condition. She mostly repeated what we knew, and told us about the possible treatments. My heart had just started to rise out of the ashes, when she said, "But, he is very, very sick."

The gravity in her voice made my heart go back to those ashes.

After a while longer, we reluctantly left. I knew everyone felt like me. We all wanted to leave and forget the sad sight, yet wanted to stay at the same time.

Days passed. It was hard for me to go about my day at the ranch when I didn't know much about his condition. I only heard what was posted on Viber, or what our pastor said on sundays. We prayed a lot.

His condition changed so much, playing with my emotions as it steadily increased, then decreased, by turn.

All I wanted to do was go back and sit with him, all day, every day. I wanted to talk to him, telling him about what fun we'd have with our violins, about how we could always do another limo ride just for him, how we could practice Spanish together. I wanted to read to him, sing to him.

Yet I never got the chance, and didn't have the guts to ask my parents to take me.

I reasoned within myself I would go. If I had to pay for the gas myself, I would see him. Blast this dilemma of not having my own car!

I never did go to see him at the hospital.

"Genevieve, do you know how he is doing?"

"I don't. I haven't checked Facebook or Viber yet. Why?"

"Well, I don't want to be the one to tell you. Are you doing school?"

"Yes...."

"Don't go on Facebook till you're done."

Now, why was she acting so weird? My heart dropped. Had his condition worsened? He'd been seeming to do a little better, but if his condition had worsened as much as she hinted at, I had a right to know.

Disregarding her wish, knowing that I couldn't concentrate until I knew, I checked Facebook.

The first post on my feed began with the words, "Our dear brother in Christ passed on today."

It didn't register for a long time. When it did, I sat there in shock. It was impossible...I'd never lost a friend before. Just a brother, and that had been when I was too young to really remember.

No, it was impossible. The doctors knew what they were doing.

But as I read on, and scrolled down to see similar posts, I realized it was indeed true.

When the tears came, they came in torrents I didn't know my eyes could hold. I cried and cried and cried, soaking more tissues than I could count.

My cousin was staying with us, and my first impulse after I got out my initial bout of tears was to tell him. But I didn't trust my eyes, so I walked out to get a drink like everything was normal.

My dad, also not knowing my turmoil, asked me to help him and my cousin with cattle. That was the last thing I wanted to do. What I wanted to do was curl up in bed and sleep for weeks. Maybe die.

As I rode, I cried whenever I was alone. Sometimes it was hard not to when the others were around. I suspected dad didn't know, otherwise he wouldn't have called me to work with him. It was hard to see or concentrate with the wind chilling me to the bone, my horse not cooperating and my thoughts constantly on my dead friend.

I'd lost someone near and dear to me. It was the first time I'd ever felt true grief. I praised the Lord my mom had been spared, and almost yelled at Him in anger over letting my friend die. I knew it was selfish, but I didn't care.

When mom announced at dinner he was dead, I once again restrained the unending tears. Instead, I quietly ate, didn't say a word and marveled at the fact my family seemed so controlled and calm.

I didn't want to go to the funeral. But when they asked me to play violin, I had no choice. Violin had been something me and my friend shared. The least I could do was play some for him.

During the long day, I didn't shed one tear or even become misty-eyed. I don't know why. Maybe it was the sense of duty I felt about being there. Maybe it was because all around me, my girlfriends were weeping their eyes out and I commenced to be the shoulder to lean on. I did my best to be a pillar for my friends, and was amazed at my control.

His death made me want to never make friends again. Never love any human being ever. For love, whether it be for your mother, brother, friend, spouse or anything, was sure to bring heartache eventually.

Those tears didn't come for weeks. I don't know why. But eventually they did come again, in torrents and endless, just as before. Yet, through it, I learned that though I had loved my friend and he had died, being his friend and loving him as one had been worth it. And I would have gone through it again, death and all, if it meant having him and his friendship back, even if for one moment.