Today is day number 1,196. Everyday since Timothy died on June 14, 2005, I cross off one day on my calendar. I believe every time someone close to you dies; a part of you dies with him.
Tim and I met each other on the varsity high school track team my seventh grade year. He was really nice and I didn’t know anybody else on the team so everyday since then I basically only talked to him. Besides my parents, I didn’t know people could be so nice until I met him. I was thirteen and he was eighteen, but he still took the time everyday to ask me how my day was and he listened to what I had to say. I guess that’s why his girlfriend, Ashley, loved him. By the end of the season in May I knew about Tim’s family, girlfriend, hopes, and dreams; and he knew the same about me. I really liked his girlfriend, too. I remember she used to bring me snacks at the track meets Tim went to. Ashley and Tim made me feel really special, and not the special way that my parents make me feel. She was so nice and Tim was perfect. I was happy. I wish I told someone I knew Tim because I never got to go to this funeral.
I remember the day I found out he past away perfectly. I woke up early, ran, went to swim practice, and came back in the afternoon for late practice. I was standing off to the side when Elizabeth said something I can, still to this day, not get over. From nowhere she said, “Did y’all hear about Tim? He was is in a car wreck, and he died.” I froze. Then I asked, “When?”
Elizabeth looked at me funny and responded, “JoAnn, you don’t even know him. You are only thirteen and in seventh grade. Tim was a senior.” As soon as she said that I didn’t say anything else; I just slowly turned around and went on with the rest of practice. I acted like nothing happened that day when my dad came and picked me up. I ate dinner like normal, went to my room, and locked the door. Then I cried myself to sleep. I knew right then I would never get to talk to him again. I knew I could never feel special the way he and Ashley made me feel.
A part of me died the day Tim died and I know I’ll never get it back. It’s been 1,196 days since Tim died. I would give anything to go back to the last time I saw him at the track banquet and tell him thank you. I never told Tim or Ashley thank you, and then he died.
I still miss him, but I accepted the fact that he’s gone and not coming back. Every year on June 14, I write him a letter. Then I read it aloud hoping he can hear it in Heaven. Then I erase it. I believe that every time someone close to you dies; a part of you dies with him.
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