I didn't think that today would be the first day since I was 17 that I think about Michael.

I met (can I even use met here?) Michael when he was 13 and I was 11. If I remember correctly, I searched the public user list of MSN Messenger for people in my age from Germany, and he was the first that responded to my e-mail.

We added each other on Messenger and started talking. The usual stuff, seemed all right until he send me a picture of himself. He was wearing a white shirt and was bold. Turns out he had Leukemia and was getting treated for the past 1-2 years.

My troubles and problems seemed non-existent compared to him. He was fighting a disease that could kill him any day, and I am whining about getting mobbed. So I decided to support him. But he didn't want support. Not the way I was offering it. He did not want to talk about his disease. Instead, he asked to be treated as a friend. And so I did that.

We kept contact for the next 2 years. Nothing extra ordinary, there is something nice about having somebody to talk to about your life that has nothing to do with your meat-life. At some point he told me that he is flying to the U.S. to partake in a clinical trial that could cure him and that he will not have a stable internet connection there. He promised that he will contact me once in a while.

Indeed, a few weeks later I got an E-mail from him that he arrived safely and that his treatment is starting soon.

And then there was silence...

I didn't hear anything from him. I was worried, but I had the feeling he was doing well and he just didn't have time to talk to weird strangers on the internet because he is cured now, all is good.

About half a year after my last contact with him, I received an e-mail from him. Even though it was his e-mail address, it was his mother who sent the mail. Michael lost his battle. The therapy did not help him. He was gone.

I felt weird. I felt sad, but I didn't know how to grieve. And now I remember that feeling, and I still don't know how to grieve.