The Tragic Loss of a Love…
I was only 15, a sophomore in high school, dating a senior who had a brand new 1966 GTO. It was April 1st, Friday night. I was working until 9 PM and told my dad that I was going over to where my girlfriend was babysitting afterwards. But, as soon as I left work, I rounded the corner and got into David’s car. It was drizzling outside and as we headed up Main St. hill a car pulled along side of us. He knew them, I felt the car accelerate. The other car pulled ahead of us and cut us off. The slick road and quick movement created the aweful hydroplaning. Moving in a circular motion, I thought we were heading for the water tower across the street. We ended up on the right side, wrapped around a tree, smack in the middle of the driver’s side. I was thrown into the back seat while he was trapped in the bucket seat, crushed between the door & the console.
I don’t remember talking to him, telling him everything would be okay. All I remember was the sound of buzzing as if we were surrounded by bees. I have no memory of the ambulance ride to the hospital. I woke up in the emergency room, my parents telling me I should not have lied to them. This would not have happened if I had done what I said I was going to do. Already I was accepting the blame.
For three days I asked to see him. When was I going to be able to go to his room and see him? Don’t come back unless you are going to take me to wherever he was. Then the nurse came in and gave me a shot. My dad handed me the newspaper, it was on the front page. He was dead. I was in the hospital. He was dead…we were not going to the prom. They had the viewing and his funeral. I was still in the hospital and could not attend. They didn’t want me to go to the cemetary, or to visit his family. I did. I needed to give his class ring to his mom. I needed to grieve, but, there seemed nowhere safe to do that. No one in my family would speak about it with me. I missed him. I hated that I was alive and he was dead. I hated that they spoke about it at school, not to me. They used it as an example of reaction time, some said that he deserved to die because we were going fast. I hated him for dying, me for not dying. People went on with their lives. They said that is what I should do.
Time dragged on. I went to school, but, was not there. The grief stayed with me for a long time. I punished myself for the next 20 years. That was the beginning of my drinking.
