Year two has been easier (for lack of a better word) than the first year: I don’t bawl my eyes out on the drive to and from work every day, only sometimes now. I don’t avoid social situations all the time, only occasionally. And I don’t get angry at the drop of a hat … ok, I still do, but anyone close to me knows that I did that way before the crash happened.
It’s hard having life continue, juggling my grief and the everyday things. Sometimes I don’t want things to be “easier.” It shows me that more time has passed, which means it’s been that much longer since I last saw Na, talked to him, hugged him, laughed with him. And then there are the things that didn’t mean much to me before, but now are painful triggers of grief: I can’t drive down the road without seeing someone on a motorcycle. For a while after the crash, I would have mini panic attacks while driving and seeing one. Today, I can barely look at them—just enough to keep my distance from them while driving. I also can’t stand seeing a dead animal on the side of the road. I can’t help but get sad and angry about how Nathan died—much like that squirrel or deer I see. (This is when the anger comes out.) I get mad at Vathana Chan and his stupid friends, who had no right to end Nathan’s life and let him die on the side of the road.
I also can’t shake the occasional urge to call or text Nathan. While I’m well aware that he’s not going to answer, I can’t wrap my mind around the fact that he’s not alive. I wonder if I’m always going to forget and think he’s just away somewhere on a trip.
I marvel at how my life can continue on when I’m now living so much in the past. I cling to memories of conversations with him, trying so hard to remember how his voice sounded and how it felt to tell him a dumb joke that made him laugh. I was so glad to discover that we have tons of pictures of him, but am now saddened that there will be no more.
I tried not living in the past once. So I looked forward and realized that there will come a day, God willing, that I will have been alive longer without Nathan than I was with him.
I stopped trying to find some grand scheme or plan that I’m supposed to follow because of Nathan’s death. Some people realize how much they love someone after that person dies, and others are sorry that they didn’t have a better relationship with that person, so they deal with regret. I didn’t need Nathan to die to realize how much I love him and how much he means to me. So where does that leave me? I believe in God and I believe that Nathan is in Heaven. I’m sure the whole “his work here on Earth was done” is true, and “he’s in a better place,” but the fact is, I’m still here and alive. I’m pretty sure there’s no amount of charity work or good will I can perform that will satisfy me or even begin to fill the void that I feel. That doesn’t mean I’m not going to do charity work, but I will not do it thinking that it’s what I’m supposed to do now.
“Don’t drink and drive,” they say. I remember seeing MADD ads and stickers over the years, and thinking “Yeah, drinking and driving is bad and dangerous.” I thought fleetingly about how people die in car crashes. Then all of a sudden, Nathan became part of a statistic, and I’m driving in my car and crying because I just saw a dead deer on the side of the road. I think that if for one day, everyone who has a driver’s license (and people who drive without one) could feel what it’s like to lose their best friend in a drunk driving crash, the roads would be safer. Consequently, these people also probably would hug their families more and be nicer to others. At the same time, I wouldn’t wish this feeling or what my family and I have been through on anyone. Ah, the irony.
So I’m not much of a Mary Sunshine, but I’m pretty sure that today I don’t have to be. I actually do love life and have a lot to be thankful for. I’m grateful to have a family who, despite everything, is very loving and supportive of one another. It’s amazing how, although we are all broken, when one of us has completely fallen apart, another is strong enough to put the pieces back together. It’s just that there’s still that missing piece.
