An open letter to you, the person that changed my life.
To the person that changed my life,
For so long, I've contemplated writing you a letter. I've considered a few times visiting you while you were "away." Countless times though, I've questioned why. Why, if you supposedly "loved" your kids so much, would you ever, EVER, drive under the influence with them in the vehicle? WHY WHY WHY.
In seventh grade, I made a new best friend by the name of Monica. She had this beautiful soul that was radiant with love. Man, she had a laugh that was like a welcome mat. Her smile could melt any heart. The teachers loved her. The students all knew they could count on her. Monica was just "that person" that was so loved and cherished. She was a pretty good athlete, excellent student, and she was just an all around amazing friend. I remember one time on the bus, an eighth grader was picking on a sixth grader, and she looked at the eighth grader, rolled her eyes, and said "Do you really have nothing better to do with your life? This is absolutely pitiful." Nothing happened from that day on. She was respected.
I'm just picturing one particular day, us seventh graders were sitting around the lunch table laughing about anything and everything, and man it was beautiful. Monica was talking about volleyball. I would laugh at the amount that they had to run. We talked about Mrs. Toll's science class that we loved so much. On this particular day, for whatever reason, we talked about our futures. Monica said "I just want to help people. That's how I want to make my impact." It was glorious. We were going to be forever young, so we thought.
Not too long after that day, I was riding the good ol' faithful yellow bus to school, sitting next to my good buddy McDowell, when I notice that Monica wasn't riding the bus to school. I didn't think much of it, I figured she must be sick. No big deal. At which point, Curtis turns around and says "Hey, you guys know Monica, right?" McDowell and I kinda chuckle, because OF COURSE we know Monica. He then tells us that she had died. No. It was some sick prank. Curtis was known to be kind of a jerk at times, so we just tried to brush it off. There was this lingering silence between McDowell and I, however. What if? What if it's true? What if she wasn't sick that morning, rather she was actually dead? What if Curtis wasn't lying? No, no, no. It couldn't be true. Seventh graders don't die. We were 12 years old. We were too young to die. About an hour after walking into school, it was confirmed that Monica was killed in an accident. An accident that the other two people pretty well walked away from, with minor injuries. An accident that could have been prevented had substances not been consumed.
In that moment, any essence of innocence that was present within our beings was stripped away. It was that moment that I began to feel deep ill will towards humanity. Before this, I loved people, and thought they were just the best things ever. My heart was shattered. I didn't know much of what to think or to feel at that time, but I knew that my life would never, EVER, be the same.
As I walked up to my best friends still, lifeless body lying in the open casket, I turn around and walk out. For that still, lifeless body was not my best friend Monica. No, she wasn't dead. We were only 12. We were to be forever young. We couldn't die yet.
I feel inclined to tell you that, at the beginning, I didn't blame you. In fact, it wasn't until you were released that I began to blame you, which was just a couple of months ago.
For so long, I thought I had forgiven you. I felt bad for you. As someone told me as you were being tried and sentenced, "She's already suffered the ultimate punishment." I'm sure they were right. I don't know. What would Monica have wanted? Well, I s'pose she would have wanted me to forgive you. So, I did. I shoved it in my back pocket, brushed my hands off, and said "'tis done."
Until these past couple of weeks.
It was brought up to me that when I forgive someone, yeah, I "forgive" them, but I put it in my back pocket, and I still hold on to it myself. In other words, it's still an anchor that I tote around daily rather than an act of freedom.
So, this letter is to tell you that no, I actually have NOT forgiven you. My best friend is dead. Sure, I have made other best friends since then, but none of them are Monica. And sure, I've lost other really good friends since Monica, but since you were released here recently, she is the one that is heavy on my heart daily right now. I really hate that anytime I sit around a table with my friends and laugh now, my mind goes back to the last time I hung out with Monica.
I'm angry. I'm so angry. I'm angry that Monica isn't with us all as we experience this first year out of high school, some of us working, and some of us in college. I'm so angry that she wasn't able to sit with us antsy students as we were about to stand up to walk across that stage at high school graduation. I'm so angry that she couldn't walk the red carpet into prom with everyone admiring her beauty. I'm so angry that she couldn't join McDowell and I in our shenanigans in high school. I'm so angry that she couldn't even make it to eighth grade promotion. I'm angry that she couldn't even experience what being a teenager was like, because she was only 12 years old. She will never have a family. She will never experience the amazing, awe-inspiring events that happen in this beautiful life. She will never experience life beyond December 1st of seventh grade year.
I'm grateful, however. Monica had just enough time to accomplish her goal of helping people. She impacted so many people. Yes, I firmly believe that she would have done some AMAZING things in this world if she would have had more than 12 years, but she didn't, and she lived every day as if it were her last, up until her last day.
Through Monica's death, I've learned that each day is a gift, and not a given right. Life can be gone at any second. It doesn't matter how old you are. Through Monica, I began to learn how to live. It is because of Monica that I now take every chance I have to tell everyone I love them.
So, I am taking steps to forgive you. I dread the day when our paths cross in Fort Scott. I fear that day will happen very, very soon. If and when it does happen, I hope I will be brave enough to embrace you with love, and I hope by that point in time, I will be able to honestly say "I forgive you."
This is to the person that changed my life. I have begun to pray for you, and I pray that my heart be softened towards you.
This is to the person that changed my life. I'm angry with you. I'm angry with your actions.
This is to the person that changed my life, until our paths cross, I will pray for you, and will continue to take steps toward forgiveness.
To the person that changed my life, I love you.
For so long, I've contemplated writing you a letter. I've considered a few times visiting you while you were "away." Countless times though, I've questioned why. Why, if you supposedly "loved" your kids so much, would you ever, EVER, drive under the influence with them in the vehicle? WHY WHY WHY.
In seventh grade, I made a new best friend by the name of Monica. She had this beautiful soul that was radiant with love. Man, she had a laugh that was like a welcome mat. Her smile could melt any heart. The teachers loved her. The students all knew they could count on her. Monica was just "that person" that was so loved and cherished. She was a pretty good athlete, excellent student, and she was just an all around amazing friend. I remember one time on the bus, an eighth grader was picking on a sixth grader, and she looked at the eighth grader, rolled her eyes, and said "Do you really have nothing better to do with your life? This is absolutely pitiful." Nothing happened from that day on. She was respected.
I'm just picturing one particular day, us seventh graders were sitting around the lunch table laughing about anything and everything, and man it was beautiful. Monica was talking about volleyball. I would laugh at the amount that they had to run. We talked about Mrs. Toll's science class that we loved so much. On this particular day, for whatever reason, we talked about our futures. Monica said "I just want to help people. That's how I want to make my impact." It was glorious. We were going to be forever young, so we thought.
Not too long after that day, I was riding the good ol' faithful yellow bus to school, sitting next to my good buddy McDowell, when I notice that Monica wasn't riding the bus to school. I didn't think much of it, I figured she must be sick. No big deal. At which point, Curtis turns around and says "Hey, you guys know Monica, right?" McDowell and I kinda chuckle, because OF COURSE we know Monica. He then tells us that she had died. No. It was some sick prank. Curtis was known to be kind of a jerk at times, so we just tried to brush it off. There was this lingering silence between McDowell and I, however. What if? What if it's true? What if she wasn't sick that morning, rather she was actually dead? What if Curtis wasn't lying? No, no, no. It couldn't be true. Seventh graders don't die. We were 12 years old. We were too young to die. About an hour after walking into school, it was confirmed that Monica was killed in an accident. An accident that the other two people pretty well walked away from, with minor injuries. An accident that could have been prevented had substances not been consumed.
In that moment, any essence of innocence that was present within our beings was stripped away. It was that moment that I began to feel deep ill will towards humanity. Before this, I loved people, and thought they were just the best things ever. My heart was shattered. I didn't know much of what to think or to feel at that time, but I knew that my life would never, EVER, be the same.
As I walked up to my best friends still, lifeless body lying in the open casket, I turn around and walk out. For that still, lifeless body was not my best friend Monica. No, she wasn't dead. We were only 12. We were to be forever young. We couldn't die yet.
I feel inclined to tell you that, at the beginning, I didn't blame you. In fact, it wasn't until you were released that I began to blame you, which was just a couple of months ago.
For so long, I thought I had forgiven you. I felt bad for you. As someone told me as you were being tried and sentenced, "She's already suffered the ultimate punishment." I'm sure they were right. I don't know. What would Monica have wanted? Well, I s'pose she would have wanted me to forgive you. So, I did. I shoved it in my back pocket, brushed my hands off, and said "'tis done."
Until these past couple of weeks.
It was brought up to me that when I forgive someone, yeah, I "forgive" them, but I put it in my back pocket, and I still hold on to it myself. In other words, it's still an anchor that I tote around daily rather than an act of freedom.
So, this letter is to tell you that no, I actually have NOT forgiven you. My best friend is dead. Sure, I have made other best friends since then, but none of them are Monica. And sure, I've lost other really good friends since Monica, but since you were released here recently, she is the one that is heavy on my heart daily right now. I really hate that anytime I sit around a table with my friends and laugh now, my mind goes back to the last time I hung out with Monica.
I'm angry. I'm so angry. I'm angry that Monica isn't with us all as we experience this first year out of high school, some of us working, and some of us in college. I'm so angry that she wasn't able to sit with us antsy students as we were about to stand up to walk across that stage at high school graduation. I'm so angry that she couldn't walk the red carpet into prom with everyone admiring her beauty. I'm so angry that she couldn't join McDowell and I in our shenanigans in high school. I'm so angry that she couldn't even make it to eighth grade promotion. I'm angry that she couldn't even experience what being a teenager was like, because she was only 12 years old. She will never have a family. She will never experience the amazing, awe-inspiring events that happen in this beautiful life. She will never experience life beyond December 1st of seventh grade year.
I'm grateful, however. Monica had just enough time to accomplish her goal of helping people. She impacted so many people. Yes, I firmly believe that she would have done some AMAZING things in this world if she would have had more than 12 years, but she didn't, and she lived every day as if it were her last, up until her last day.
Through Monica's death, I've learned that each day is a gift, and not a given right. Life can be gone at any second. It doesn't matter how old you are. Through Monica, I began to learn how to live. It is because of Monica that I now take every chance I have to tell everyone I love them.
So, I am taking steps to forgive you. I dread the day when our paths cross in Fort Scott. I fear that day will happen very, very soon. If and when it does happen, I hope I will be brave enough to embrace you with love, and I hope by that point in time, I will be able to honestly say "I forgive you."
This is to the person that changed my life. I have begun to pray for you, and I pray that my heart be softened towards you.
This is to the person that changed my life. I'm angry with you. I'm angry with your actions.
This is to the person that changed my life, until our paths cross, I will pray for you, and will continue to take steps toward forgiveness.
To the person that changed my life, I love you.
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