“The last time I saw Jared, he was getting ready to go out for dinner. He was running late, but still waited for me to get home from work so he could give me a kiss before he headed out. I walked in the door surprised and delighted to see him there, looking very handsome. He ran towards me, gave me a huge kiss and hug and ran out the door. Five seconds later he came back in to give me another kiss and hug and to tell me he loved me. Then he was gone.”
I just made the mistake of reading an incredibly sad and touching story told by a woman whose boyfriend died in a motorcycle accident. I am now in tears. I don’t know whether I’m just overtired and emotional, but something about the story has really affected me, particularly this part:
“The hardest thing was dealing with losing my best friend. We were both fiercely independent people, but confided in each other with everything. At the end of the day, even if I’d spent the day with friends and family, the one support I yearned for was not there. I still went home to an empty bed. All I wanted was the simple, loving embrace of Jared to say it was OK. Whenever I received news from family or friends I would find myself reaching for my phone. It was like a dagger stabbing me every time, knowing that the flow of sharing my life with him had stopped.”
There is something about that last line, “the flow of sharing my life with him had stopped”, that I find so heartbreaking. The thought of losing someone close to me is actually terrifying. I hope my friends and family know how much I love them. Maybe I should work on that.
(Interview by Louise Bannister)
