I got into work early that morning and saw that I already had phone messages waiting for me. I hit the keys on the phone to retrieve messages, and I heard my sister Cathy’s voice…
“Suz, call me back.”
Tone is everything, isn’t it? Why would she be calling me so early? At work? I distinctly remember the feeling I got in the pit of my stomach; I assumed it was something with my mother. After all, that’s the logical order of things when your mind starts thinking of all the reasons for an early-morning message. I was wrong.
My 20-year old niece Emily had driven to Milwaukee with friends the day before, but she wasn’t coming back. She was killed on the way home by someone in a pickup truck who had too much to drink that night. The details of the accident are too painful to remember today…but I think of other things.
Our family gathered that day at my sister’s house, not really knowing what to do or say. Just knowing we needed to be together. But there are things that need to be done at a time like this, aren’t there?
There are those details of planning a service…what to do over the next few days…what do you do to honor a young girl’s life? We never had to do this before. It’s not the “logical order” at all. Even today I sit in awe of my sister Mary Ellyn and brother-in-law John who during a time of ultimate grief, made the decision to donate her healthy, young eyes and skin so someone else could see or a burn victim could heal. It was perhaps the noblest and most unselfish act I’ve ever witnessed. And the perfect way to honor Emily’s life. Odd as it is to say, she would have approved.
The following year, as April and the anniversary of her death was upon us, we lost my mother…also named Emily… almost one-year to the day later. Losing her “namesake” granddaughter had a bigger impact on her than perhaps any of us realized. Our wounds deepened and again we grieved. Would April ever be the same for us?
Ten years have passed and I think of my beautiful niece on so many occasions. This quirky 20-year-old girl who showed up with blue hair one day, red the next. A combat-boot-wearing artistic soul who loved butterflies, and poetry, and writing. I grieve that we did not have a chance to know the woman that she would have become. I think I would have liked her very much.
While out riding several weeks ago I saw something that made me think of her, but couldn’t remember where it was. So today, I spent a fair amount of time just riding around trying to find it. But I didn’t mind…I needed to find it.
For Emily…
