The car, traveling at least 70 miles an hour, rolled and flipped, ejecting Nikolas Jesus Aguirre through the windshield. He had a blood alcohol of .17, which matched his age. The bottom rear end of the Ford Explorer hit a tree with a circumference of 30 inches 12 feet above the ground, splitting the tree in two. The car and the tree landed on Nikolas, crushing him. He died May 8, 2008, a day before his 18th birthday.
Sometimes it feels like my heart has been hacked with a rusty razor blade. My grief spurts out like wasted blood, like the rain that rattles the roof, and my tears spill unheeded. I don’t understand anything and I hate feeling like this. I would have gladly died for my son, Nik.
At first, I thought I’d drop out of school and never write again. And then, I decided to live. I wrote letters to Oprah, trying to find a grand finale and spread the message, don’t drink and drive, and for Nik’s sake, wear a seatbelt. She sent me a form letter reply. I ranted, raved, made a video, joined a community activist group, became a student ambassador and created a blog, attempting to find meaning in my son’s death.
And just when I think I have grief licked, some young man walks down the street with Nik’s smile. The wretched lump in my chest, the weak knees and the buckets of tears that cascade down my cheeks returns, uninvited, unintended and unwanted.
I have to confront my grief everyday. I wear my son’s memorial necklace like an amulet, a luck charm and a potent reminder of his sweet smile. Better yet, I’ve decided to do a good deed every day in his memory, so at the end of the day, I can say, I am a better person because he died.
I told my friend Wendell to call his estranged son, and because of that, they now have a relationship. I shoveled roofs for friends in need, visited people I hadn’t seen in years, and had a guest come for a weekend. I plowed my neighbor’s driveway, bought my dog a toy duck, and took my daughter out to dinner. Sometimes, it’s as easy as putting the shopping cart back, and sometimes, it’s as simple as saying hello to a senior citizen.
Everyone dies. And those of us who remain can make the world a better place to live in by remembering our lost loved ones and doing something nice for someone else in their memory.
It doesn’t take the hurt away, but it brings a touch of sanity to the grief process.
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2 comments:
Hi Desiree, my name is Helen and I live in Ireland. My 14 year old daughter Catherine was killed in a car crash in July 2006, just 2 weeks after her birthday. The driver was drunk and speeding and refused to slow down when Catherine and her friend begged him to. They crashed into a stone wall. Catherine was the front seat passenger and took the full impact of the crash - she didn't stand a chance. I admire you're way of trying to cope. I'm still trying to make sense of things too. Keep up the good work. Helen.
Thank-you. My son, unfortunately, was the drunk driver. My daughter and I are grateful he was by himself. He had a big heart, and he couldn't have lived with himself if he hurt someone else. One of my best friends sister-in-law was just killed by a drunk driver. He hit her head on, and of course, he survived. He didn't have insurance or a license. Luckily, the baby in the car survived. We hope the driver gets to spend a long time in jail...I'm glad you found my blog! I enjoyed reading yours.
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