It is sad but inevitable that we, at some point in our lives, must learn how to bury a friend. If we are lucky, that lesson comes much later in life. Sadly, that is often not the case. We were confronted by an unexpected tragedy. It is impossible to try and make sense of what happened to Ava Hecht, who was a member of the Spectator’s editorial board and a classmate and friend to us all.

Ava left a mark on the Stuyvesant community. Whether she was tracking down props for theatrical productions, lending her voice to the chorus or rallying students to shut down Guantanamo Bay, we all felt her presence. The news cast a shadow over the school that Friday, and came as a shock to us all. We struggled together to overcome our surprise, our grief and our fears.

She was known for her Doc Martins, her mischievous smile and her affinity for concerts with mosh pits. She could talk to anyone about anything. She was incredibly personable, and was passionate about the things she cared about. Ava had a deep concern for the world around her, which she applied to her subversive cartoons and comic strips.

It’s impossible to say where Ava was headed—she was a talented artist, writer and student. Indeed, the only thing more tragic than the death of a friend is the death of a friend with a whole life ahead of her. However, we can take some comfort in the poems she wrote, the comics she created and the fact that though her life was unfairly short, it was full.