The serene-looking old lady alongside me softly tugged my arm as I backed away from the chestnut-colored casket, short of breath. She whispered, "It's okay, sweetie, your friend rests in a better place now; he wouldn't want you crying, now.  I nodded inertly as I felt the eyes of the seated portion of the congregation burning holes into my back, but I could not allow myself to think of anything else but my friend since middle school, lying in the casket in front of me. As I took my seat in the pew, I put my head down between my legs at a loss for words. It was a rush of emotions I had never experienced in my life, and I did not know how to deal with it. The funeral and viewing of Keith Morgan was a defining moment in my life, because at that very moment, I experienced immense personal growth that completely changed the way I viewed life and acted towards other. My reaction at Keith's body during the viewing only showed that death was evidently something I had never really had to deal with. It hit me hard, and hit me deep. Keith Morgan started middle school with me at Garcia back in 2006. He was always a great person: the kid who shared his lunch with you when you forgot yours at home. The kid who patted you on the back and said "Don't worry, it's okay  when you missed your free throws during practice. Keith was an overall beautiful person, with a personality I had seldom encountered in my life. He brightened up the whole aura of the school on a sad day; he was a flower spreading its young leaves out of the mud at the start of spring. In middle school, people constantly teased me because of my looks: being too chubby, having bad skin, just about anything people felt like pointing out to make themselves feel better. Too shy to ever stand up for myself, I usually just let the insults roll and kept quiet. But, whenever Keith saw me being picked on or teased, he would always say something. Whether he gave me a shoulder to cry on or stoo