March 29, 2011 in death
Whenever the calendar turns to spring, my thoughts turn to Steve. In June of 2008, my friend died in a five-car pileup on Highway 1. His car was struck head-on by a drunk driver. He died at the scene, and although his girlfriend, Cindy, made it out alive and can walk again, there are scars. Very deep scars.
We all saw Steve three weeks earlier. He was back in New York for business which meant beer, burgers and ping pong in the backyard. When I asked him how things were going, Steve just grinned the way he always did and said, “Life is good. Life is really good!” And it was. He was young and successful and handsome and loved. He had everything. And then nothing.
None of us could know that it would be the last time we would see Steve alive, or that Cindy would never quite be the same, and it made the funeral unbearable. So nearly three years later, here I am again, crying over the loss of a friend, remembering his grin and the sunny, easy way he had about him. Life is good. Life is really good. And then it is gone.