Mar. 4, 2015.

That’s the day senior Kara Simpson remembers she was supposed to be getting a haircut. 

She realized something wasn’t right while waiting to be picked up at her grandparent’s house. That’s when her mom broke the news.

Simpson burst into tears.

Her dad hurt his back badly in the 90’s and had to get surgery. One of the surgeons operating hit a nerve cord in his back. This lead to decades of chronic pain. Every day was excruciating. Simpson saw her dad not be able to sleep for three days straight. He popped pain relievers reluctantly. Nothing seemed to be helping.

 While she was at school one day, he passed peacefully in his sleep – it was an accidental overdose, they said.

He was 40 years old. 

Soon after, Simpson watched as her family slowly started to crumble. 

She didn’t go to school for two weeks.

The first day back, they had indoor recess because it was raining hard. 

“None of my friends would talk to me,” Simpson said. “Not because they were mad. But because they were also my age and probably didn’t know how to process someone else’s dad dying.”

Simpson recollects the two funerals — how a few teachers showed up — and her second grade class made cards.

She started getting panic attacks and acting out. Locking herself inside bathroom stalls and hiding in the corner became routine. She got sent to the principal’s office more than once for “behavioral issues.” 

“It’s hard handling all those emotions and dealing with personal stuff at home,” Simpson said. “And then having school when you feel like none of the kids understand besides your little sister and cousins.”

Growing up, Simpson saw her very nerdy and creative dad make board games from scratch and host game nights with friends most weekends. He played a lot of “Dungeons and Dragons” and “Magic: The Gathering” cards. He doodled mythical symbols on their basement wall in marker — which still remain untouched —  a sort of informal shrine that Simpson has walked past almost every day for 10 years. 

Simpson and senior Sophie Delaney first met at Mill Creek Elementary. 

They were both dorky and down-to-earth. Simpson loved make believe magic, and Delaney was artsy and especially gullible, so they got along great. During recess, they’d play with wands crafted from wooden pencils with the paint scratched off and cast spells from the swingsets.  

Delaney’s dad had blood cancer, multiple myeloma.

Delaney’s family found out that her dad got accepted to participate in a clinical trial at Sloan Kettering Memorial Hospital.

Before leaving for New York City for the trial and saying goodbye to his wife, Kristy and his two-year-old son James, Delaney’s dad gave her a present. 

“It obviously wasn’t super valuable monetary wise,” Delaney said, gently twisting the small chain between her fingers. “But it was very sentimental. It still is. I mean, he essentially gave it to me as a memento in case he didn’t come back.”

The necklace pendant is a shiny silver circle, engraved on both sides. 

Sep. 30, 2006 — her birthday.

Daddy. 

Right now, it hangs up on the hexagonal corkboard beside her nightstand.

Delaney’s dad survived eight more years of treatment. He died three days before her 14th birthday. 

She can still see his hospice bed being carried out. And hear her uncle Zach’s words “it’s time to say goodbye.”

They scattered his ashes in Ireland – the canal where he grew up fishing. Delaney missed the trip they took there before he passed, cold beaches, long drives, crappy mattresses and all.

“It was very bittersweet,” Delaney said. 

For a long time she had gotten used to putting her clothes in the wash after school so as not to compromise her dad’s immune system. 

She enjoyed snuggling with him in bed and watching Marvel movies while he slept all day. 

She normalized how, as time passed, their hall closet started looking more like a built-in pharmacy. 

“Those last few days, he kept saying ‘I’m sorry,’” Delaney said.

When Simpson heard what happened, she’d immediately texted Delaney to let her know that she was there and sorry.

They became extremely close in middle school over long deep talks and sleepovers watching “Stranger Things.” Simpson was the first person Delaney called when she panicked about what to do if her mom started dating again. 

“There were times in my life where I needed to rant about something,” Delaney said. “Kara made it clear that she was there for me.”

Simpson’s dad will never have gotten to meet her awkward high school boyfriend. Or walk the gymnasium floor, arms linked, during sweetheart court.

Delaney’s dad will have never ridden with her in the front seat of his car after she got her license at 16. Or see her art get displayed at school showcases.

Neither will cheer for their daughters as they walk the graduation stage, diploma in hand, this May. Or witness them navigate adulthood. 

For a long time, Delaney and Simpson had the opportunity to bond over their own uniquely tragic situations. They took separate paths in high school, and now rarely talk, except through instagram comments and DMs. They drifted apart. 

“We had a good friendship,” Simpson said. “And that’s what makes me happy.”