On this morning six weeks ago, Max told us he had been rear ended the night before by a hit-and-run drunk driver. It crunched up the back of his car, making the trunk useless and requiring the bumper to come off so he could drive. His new-to-him, beautiful car was now junky, but he was strangely undisturbed by this. He was still filled with optimism, passion, and joy. He had so much to look forward to.
Two days later, he was struck by a semi-truck on his way home from classes. I happened on the scene, quite coincidentally, about 5 minutes later and knew instantly that it was Max in that mangled wreck because I recognized the little red car without a bumper.
I made a Shutterfly photo album of all the photos I could find from his brief life. Maybe one day I will find more photos in a box somewhere or in a hard drive on another computer, but for now I am exhausted. It will have to wait for another day.
Grief is hard work.
Two days later, he was struck by a semi-truck on his way home from classes. I happened on the scene, quite coincidentally, about 5 minutes later and knew instantly that it was Max in that mangled wreck because I recognized the little red car without a bumper.
I made a Shutterfly photo album of all the photos I could find from his brief life. Maybe one day I will find more photos in a box somewhere or in a hard drive on another computer, but for now I am exhausted. It will have to wait for another day.
Grief is hard work.
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