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A Matter that Could Never Be Titled
Sunday,
January 18, is the day that my heart was completely shattered into a million pieces. This is the day that my little brother,
not by blood but by choice and untouchable love, was torn away from all of us who adored him. He was killed by a drunk driver.
She hit my friend’s car without even trying to break and pushed the car 92 feet down the street. Ninety-two feet is
the distance it took to crush my entire being and everything I had once believed in. Ninety-two feet took an angel from earth
and placed him back into the sky.
Andy was his name. He was only twenty years old, but in those twenty years he
had seen almost every continent, known great love, excessive pain, and gave his friends strength and wisdom beyond his years.
I try to find comfort in the life that he lived, but it cannot compare to the pain that I feel in his death. I can grasp
his life, everything he taught me and the joy his mere existence brought to my life, but it seems impossible to grasp his
absence. People say that time heals all wounds, but every day I miss him more. Every day I wake up with something new to
tell him, and I look at his picture and I cry. I have come to find that the old saying “absence makes the heart grow
fonder” only counts when you are going to see someone again. My heart couldn’t possibly be any fonder of Andy,
and now it just feels tired and battered.
Now we are stuck here to sort through the pain and the remains of a split
second mistake. I wake up angry. It took me weeks just to get past hatred. I walk around campus with a hood over my head
and headphones on to block out the fact that other people exist and that life continues on. I find love and solace in my
friends and my family, but the lows are so extreme that the good seems really cheap, and it has teased me for weeks in its
absence. I have to fight just to make it through, I’m willing to fake it when I have to, and I watch my responsibilities
dance around me and I simply just don’t care. I used to care so much. Now I’m proud of myself for having the strength
to get out of bed and brush my teeth.
I am desperately trying to come to terms with Andy’s death and find peace
within myself. I don’t want to feel anger, rage and hate. I’m so tired of pain and anxiety. I don’t want
to have to remind myself to breathe anymore. My only solace has been in my friends and family, who I feel more than lucky
to be left with. They are now my only possible joy. Just this week I was reminded of what true love feels like, and the
flicker in my heart was turned into a flame again and the warmth is overwhelming. I’m thankful that the ice that froze
over my heart is beginning to melt, but I still have so much to work through. At least I can now say that I have hope and
will. My brother told me that time does not heal all wounds, but that all wounds can heal in time if you pay attention to
what surrounds you. I am lucky enough that my surroundings are love. Hopefully I will find true peace in this wisdom.
Shelly
is the name of the girl who murdered Andy. Some people argue that she did not commit murder because it was a mistake, an
accident. Some point out that she had no intent of such a horrible thing. I understand this, but I will not call what she
did anything less than murder. Violent means have violent ends, and she made the conscious decision to drive after drinking.
Andy’s death was the violent end of her decision.
In the beginning I felt pure hatred for her. I dreamed of
running into her on the street and slowly and painfully choking the life out of her while staring her in the eyes as she died.
I could feel her neck in my hands, a perfect fit. Slowly this anger left me. Now I just want her out of my life as quickly
as she came into it. I don’t want to waste time, thoughts or feelings on her that could be spent on those I love, on
Andy. She is not worth filling myself with negative energy.
It’s really hard to think about the fact that
she only had three or four drinks. I originally thought that she was completely wasted, especially considering the aspects
of the accident, how fast she was driving, and the fact that she didn’t even try to break before hitting my friend’s
car. This is the realization that ended my hatred. I hate to admit it, but there are a lot of people I know that have driven
after three or four drinks at some point in time, including myself. I thought about this and how it really could have been
any of us a few years back before we became smart enough not to do such things.
I began to think about the fact
that she could be a really good person. She could be an awful human being. I have no idea, and therefore I do not feel that
I am in the position to judge who she is, but I will judge the decision she made. It was a decision that forever changed
many people’s lives, a decision that causes me immense pain every waking day. The main problem I have with her as a
person is that she has attended more than one funeral of friends of hers that were killed by drunk driving. I know this because
she went to high school with a good friend of mine (bringing her existence too close to home for comfort). Even before Andy’s
death my friends and I have been very adamant about having designated drivers for the past two years, and I cannot even begin
to fathom having a half of a drink and getting behind the wheel now. It really disturbs me that she could do that.
It’s
hard to talk about the trial with my friends. For one thing it makes it so much more real that Andy is dead. Dead. I can’t
really grasp what that means, and I still don’t want to. Some people want to see her rot in jail, lose her life, and
be severely punished. I felt this way in the beginning because I was so angry but I don’t anymore. To be honest, I
don’t really care what happens to her. No sentence will diminish my pain; no punishment will bring back my little brother.
I feel guilty at not caring sometimes, but the fact is that either she understands what she did or she doesn’t and jail
isn’t going to change that. I have come to accept this, and my anger at her is dissipating. I won’t give myself
the credit of claiming to be anywhere near reaching forgiveness, I’m just tired of bad blood running through my veins.
My mom asked me what I thought would be a fair punishment. I don’t believe that fair exists in this situation,
or exists at all. The second she hit the car “fair” flew out the window and completely out of my vocabulary. I
don’t see how her rotting in prison makes any positive difference. Like I said before, it won’t bring Andy back.
I am stuck with the horrible fact that the only thing that I want I can never have again. The only thing that could bring
me any satisfaction would be a lifetime sentence of community service. She stole a large and wonderful part of our community,
and I feel that she should spend the rest of her life giving back to whatever community that she is in. This still feels
unfair, but it’s the closest I can get.
I wonder when the pain will lessen and I can concentrate on the joy
that Andy gave me instead. I can’t wait for that day, and it seems so far away. I have come to the realization that
you never move on from the people you love, you are instead forced to learn how to move with them in an unfamiliar way. I
will always move with Andy, he will always be my little brother, and I hope he is the first person that I see after my passing.
I often wonder why my friends and I have to feel this pain. I now understand that the only way to feel great pain is to
feel great love first, and I would go through this pain five times over if that’s what it took to be loved the way that
Andy loved me, and to love someone the way that I love him. I was blessed to find a friend that gave me something to believe
in, and I will believe in him forever. I am still extremely torn up inside, but I hope that the love I have for him and for
my friends and family will eventually lead to peace inside of me. Until then I’ll have to go day by day, and try not
to forget about the good things that exist right in front of me.
Aleda
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