Christ brings me sunshine in winter

In Grade 11, a few weeks after prefects were selected, my classmate died. We had been friends on and off when we were younger, and sometimes studied for the Grade 7 exams together, but as we got older, we drifted apart into different circles of friends and became acquaintances at best.
She got sick and I, like the other people in my class, thought nothing of it when she did not come to prep that night. She was just one more person who had the misfortune to get malaria. We all assumed she would get better. And she did get better, at least - for a short while.
I passed her in the corridors, a Friday, as I made my way to supper. She had just taken a shower and was walking to her room where she was a prefect in charge of 10 girls. She was wrapped in the brown towel she always used. I glanced at her, wondering if I should offer to get her supper. Instead, I asked if she was feeling better. I can't remember what she said, but I know she smiled. I smiled back and that was that.
I wonder now, if something extraordinary inspired me with that moment of altruism. I wonder now, if it would have made a difference had I offered what I intended. What parallel universe would I be in now? Would I, in just three short weeks be starting medical school? Would she be dead?
She swam in the school swimming team, was cute, bubbly, short. A popular girl with popular friends. She was light skinned, paid attention in class and got good grades. My mother knew her mother.
I was sitting on my bed one night, when a day scholar spoke into the window, giving all of us in the room a fright. "[B.....] is dead, you guys". I stared stupidly at the window. She had just gone home that weekend. I had seen her, smiled at her two days ago. But it was true.
That week we had a memorial service for her. I sat in the hall, thinking about the nature of death, the fragility of life for the first time. Just like that. She was dead. I kept thinking, I saw her on Friday, smiled at her. I saw her.
I thought of her parents, having lost their only daughter. I thought of her brothers, having lost their only sister. She was only 15. Yet, her life was over. In days, she would be buried and there would be no more [B.....]. In a few years, she would be reduced to bones in an uncaring earth. I couldn't get over the finality, the suddeness of what had happened. Even now, it makes my heat skip a beat.
At the funeral, I saw her in her coffin and for the first time I cried. She was laying there, in her makeup, in her church dress with her eyes closed. She could have been sleeping. Her mother was there, crying. I wanted to say something, but could not find the right words. It was so unfair. So unforseen. Whenever I remember the song we sang on the bus there, I grow cold.
I think of her mother now, 6 years later. Does she grieve? How could she possibly have gotten through such a time?
I think of [B....]. What would she be doing right now? Where would she be?
I remember singing on the bus. I can only remember that one line, "Christ brings me sunshine in winter".
I remember her.