She walks past the rows of gravestones, where his headstone would soon join. The weight of her best friend’s casket in her hands. 

She walks through the field of green, dew-covered grass in a green dress and a green ribbon in her hair. 

She arrives at the place where she is meant to leave him forever. 

No more 1 a.m. McDonald’s runs, fighting over Xbox games, trips to the mall or 4th of July cookouts. There is only one place they will see each other now. The Resurrection Catholic Cemetery. 

Kenley Dearing and Ovet Gomez Regalado met in a finance class in middle school 

“On the first day, he looks at me and he’s like, do you know what pantyhose are?” Dearing laughed. “We just became best friends after that.” 

On Aug. 14, 2024, Regalado passed out from a heat stroke at preseason football practice. That day Regalado was hospitalized in critical condition; his parents and siblings were the first to be notified, Dearing was the second.  

The next day, they arrived at the hospital. Dearing sits down next to Regalado, a little stuffed shark sitting on the bedside table next to him. 

“They used to always give each other sharks, like stuffed sharks,” Kenley’s mom, Candie Dearing, says. 

Kenley sits holding his hand as the nurses remove him from life support, seeing his heart monitor flatline. 

“We talked a lot about it, Candie Dearing said. “This is going to be very hard. This is not going to be easy. But she was adamant that she wanted to be there for him.”

 Kenley and Ovet were best friends; her battle with grieving her favorite person is an everyday one. Sometimes the grief hits her like a ton of bricks. Some days it’s lighter. 

Aug. 17 was especially heavy.

 Dearing met with the Gomez Regalado’s and showed up to the Northwest fields along with hundreds of students, teachers, friends, family and community members, all dressed in green, tying green and orange balloons to fences around the tennis court to honor Ovet. 

 “I was still in shock and I wasn’t accepting it,” Dearing says.

For Dearing, the next few weeks were a blur.

She followed her routine. She went to school because she had tests to take. She sent streaks to her friends. Even Ovet. 

“I have our streaks still alive,” Kenley said. “I’ve been buying them back ever since.”

Aug. 26, 2024, was the last day they saw each other. In his casket was the stuffed shark tucked in next to him. A little piece of their friendship for him to hold onto forever. 

Eight Months later, Dearing is still finding ways to deal with the loss. 

“She definitely has a void of a best friend,” Candie said. “He won’t be replaced ever.” 

Dearing still follows her routines. Going to school, going to softball or wrestling practice, hanging out with friends and family. Only now, that routine doesn’t include Xbox tournaments and McDonald’s drive-thru visits. 

“The things that they used to do together, she holds pretty near and dear to her heart,” Candie says. “I don’t even know if she has yet to play on the Xbox with anyone.”

 But just because he’s gone doesn’t mean he has stopped being her best friend. 

“I still call him on accident, trying to tell him stuff,” Dearing says. “I always text him every morning to tell him how I’m doing.”      

Regalado’s favorite color was green, so since his death, Dearing has worn green ribbons in her hair for her softball games and wears them on her school backpack every day. 

“That’s something that’s going to stay with me,” Kenley said. “I probably won’t ever ” 

She continues to put ribbons on her friend’s backpacks as well, to keep his memory alive.   

It’s now many games into the softball season, and they are losing 12-1. She walks up to the plate, taking a chance, and swings at the incoming ball. She hits far into the left side of the outfield, immediately dropping her bat and runs. A green ribbon attached to a braid at the base of her head glides as she runs the bases. 

“The one that I wear for softball is the one I wore to his funeral,” Dearing says.