In the Shadows

Mica Hamilton, 16, died of self inflicted wounds on January 24. She died alone. Heartbroken and cold, lying in a crimson river of her own blood. She was a ghost, living in the shadows of the great ones. 1

We know it takes a certain amount of strength and talent to be a great one, to be a hero, to be perfect. We’ve heard their tales of woe, tales of struggle and sacrifice, we know of their strength, and we cry with them as they suffer. But have we ever recognized the strength it takes to be invisible, to be the one standing just outside of the light. 2

Have you ever wondered about the girl you push past to get an autograph or the boy you step on to get those extra brownie points. Of course not, I mean, I can’t say I have. I was one of you. I was not a great one, I wasn’t going to go to Harvard or Yale, but I wasn’t going to end up at Sally’s school of hairdressing either. I wasn’t one of the beautiful ones, nor was I hideously disfigured. I wasn’t popular, but I had friends, I had a life. 3

Apparently she didn’t. I never saw it coming. I knew she was depressed. I knew she was very sick, but there was always a fire burning inside her icy blue eyes, a fire that I didn’t think would ever go out. But it did. She went, though, not like a candle in the wind, no that was never her style. Beneath the plain blonde hair and her completely average looks, behind the soft voice and innocent smile, was the heart of a warrior. Her spark burned out as Jack London said “in a brilliant blaze… a suburb meteor every atom in a magnificent glow.”  4

So what if  she died alone, so what if killed herself, she went down fighting, she went down with her ship. She died like so many of her heroes, bloodstained, and weary, alone on the battlefield. She died victorious.5

She never respected cowards and hated fear. She claimed to have only one fear, and faced it every time she got a chance. This was a girl who fucking laughed at death. 6

She never much cared for the legendary heroes, she hated glory hounds, and couldn’t stand propaganda. Her head was full of forgotten tales about unsung heroes. She couldn’t necessarily name the winners of each and every war, but she could recite the life story of a priest who martyred himself during the holocaust or the accomplishments of a rarely mentioned Star Wars character. 7

The great ones molded her into a lie. You ignored her and mocked her, and we her friends took her for granted. She protected us. She fought for us. She cut herself to keep from hurting you, the very people who found her good for nothing more than cheap entertainment. She took knives to her own skin and matches to her hands, just to keep from hurting you. 8

She has her own horror stories and her own demons. She has known monsters that would terrify you, but she kept silent and kept going, ignoring the monsters, ignoring the great ones, she kept on dealing with our sorry problems. But one day the burden was just a little too heavy. She faltered a little too much and breathed a little too little. 9

That day she smiled her tired smile for the last time. She walked the plain halls and ignored your mocking words one last time. She said good bye and promised too call her “friends” one last time. And then she went home and with sword in hand she took a stand and died, fallen victim to herself. 10

So I came here today to bury a ghost, an odd girl, a quiet girl, a brilliant girl. I have come here to bury another statistic. 11

January 24, Micaela Hamilton died of wounds inflicted not by herself but of wounds inflicted by us. Wounds from the great ones that were here family, wounds from her so called friends, wounds from those who never saw her. We killed her. You killed her, I killed her. She is not just another damn statistic, she was murdered by those she tried to save. 12

January 24 Micaela Hamilton died of self inflicted wounds.  13