Up until recently, I had been fortunate to have never had to attend a funeral. If you had told me a month ago that I would be attending the funeral of a friend killed in a brutal hate crime, I probably wouldn’t have believed you, but then again, who would?

The morning that I found out about the inexplicable and horrific murders of Deah Barakat, Yusor Abu-Salha and Razan Abu-Salha in Chapel Hill, Feb. 10, my first thought was denial. In 2010 I had spent a week in Orlando, Florida with Razan at the FCCLA National Championships. I had seen her post a Vine just the other day. In recent months, photos of Deah and Yusor had appeared on my Facebook feed, making me a silent bystander to what I see now was their full, loving and incredible lives.

My second thought was, “Why did it have to be them?” I wouldn’t wish this fate upon anyone. Whenever I read about hate crimes and murders in the news, I would almost glaze over the headlines, mournful but ultimately unaffected by the atrocities of our world. But when it not only happens so close to home, but to someone you have so many fond memories of, everything takes on a new perspective. My mother told me that there is always someone like me and so many others in situations like this–the ones who, despite the fact-filled and emotionless news articles taking the world by storm, are left to try and mourn the best one can in a situation that has no explanation.

There is no doubt in my mind that this was a hate crime. I do not care how many headlines I see full of parking dispute filled-rational, or how many times I am forced to read quotes about what a great student the man who killed them (who I refused to name; he does not deserve the recognition) was, or how many people are quoted saying he was a loving and accepting human. What happened was a terrorist act, and the fact that it is failing to be considered as such makes me sick to my stomach.

I can only hope that some good will continue to come out of the tragedy that has impacted so much more than our own communities. The legacies that Deah, Yusor and Razan left behind through their endless kindness and generosity will not be forgotten. It is up to the rest of us to continue on in their honor with the work that they started. Our world needs to change, and eventually it will. I’m just sad that they won’t be here to see it.