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June the Ninth
Jun. 9th, 2006 08:22 amSeven years.
Seven years ago today, my cousin Paul phoned his girlfriend to say he was on his way over, and never arrived. Seven years ago today he got on his bicycle and headed out to her place, and was hit by a car from behind, killed instantly. He was 26 years old.
The driver was convicted of causing death by negligent driving, given a suspended sentence because my uncle and aunt pleaded for leniency. They said sending her to prison wouldn't bring him back, and they were right, but I wonder if I could have been as forgiving in their shoes. They've never been the same since, and neither have any of their three daughters, my cousins. Just one death can have such a devastating effect on so many people.
June the ninth, 1999, and it was a bright, sunny day, just like today. It always is, every year. I even know what I was doing at the exact moment it happened. Just before 8pm, still broad daylight: I was just seeing the engineer out who'd come to fix our boiler, and then I sat and chatted with my Italian housemate Eva for the rest of the evening. Had no idea that just a few miles away my cousin was dying at that very moment.
Seven years. It's funny how you always remember the day, without ever intending to. It's just a day, like any other. And then you wake up and remember that no, it isn't just a day like any other. This was the day it happened.
God speed, Paul, and rest in peace. We miss you.
Seven years ago today, my cousin Paul phoned his girlfriend to say he was on his way over, and never arrived. Seven years ago today he got on his bicycle and headed out to her place, and was hit by a car from behind, killed instantly. He was 26 years old.
The driver was convicted of causing death by negligent driving, given a suspended sentence because my uncle and aunt pleaded for leniency. They said sending her to prison wouldn't bring him back, and they were right, but I wonder if I could have been as forgiving in their shoes. They've never been the same since, and neither have any of their three daughters, my cousins. Just one death can have such a devastating effect on so many people.
June the ninth, 1999, and it was a bright, sunny day, just like today. It always is, every year. I even know what I was doing at the exact moment it happened. Just before 8pm, still broad daylight: I was just seeing the engineer out who'd come to fix our boiler, and then I sat and chatted with my Italian housemate Eva for the rest of the evening. Had no idea that just a few miles away my cousin was dying at that very moment.
Seven years. It's funny how you always remember the day, without ever intending to. It's just a day, like any other. And then you wake up and remember that no, it isn't just a day like any other. This was the day it happened.
God speed, Paul, and rest in peace. We miss you.
