It was 8:31 am on a Saturday morning. I was 16. I woke up with a start, unsure why, I looked at my clock, saw the time and rolled back over. The phone rings. Who on earth would call my line this early? It’s Sarah. She is silent for a moment before shakily saying, “There’s been an accident. And. And. Jeff is dead.” First confusion, a brief moment of disbelief, then anger. “No.” I say, “That’s ridiculous.” She goes on to say that her older sister’s friend lives right next door to where the car crashed. Brooke has always been spiteful and bitchy, I am sure that she is lying. The sickest kind of prank. I shout something along those lines and hang up the phone. I don’t remember who I called, or if I turned on the news, or where I got the confirmation. But I had no breath. I had no solid thoughts. I’m not even sure I had a heartbeat.
My life had been a dumpster fire right up until meeting Jeff. We were poor, evicted regularly, I changed schools every year. My parent’s marriage was volatile and our household chaotic and dysfunctional. My mother was verbally and occasionally physically abusive. As a small child, left under the care of others, I was subjected to sexual abuse. A reality that took many years to put together. A puzzle with pieces that could disappear like smoke right before being put into place.
In my adolescence, I started to realize that something was off. I was having weird nightmares. I knew something bad had happened to me, but also felt like a liar to even imagine such things. Something was clearly wrong with me. It was then, I met a special and wise old soul. The best friend I’ve ever had. One of the best people I’ve ever known. A 13 year old boy who spent the next 3 years of our time together loving me, trying to prove that to me, and never wavering in it. I could never believe that I deserved him. I was dirty and he was everything good and pure. I was certain that the only way I could keep him safe from my damage, was by loving him as only a friend. Jeff told me that if being my best friend was the only way he could have me in his life, he’d take it. He took the role seriously. He was protective, made me feel special, and he was always there. He gave me hope that maybe everything would be alright.
I had never understood unconditional love the way I received it from Jeff. For some reason, I’ve never been able to figure out, he was deeply in love with me. He stood beside me, painful as it must have been, as I self sabotaged by bending to myself to the whims of any other guy that paid attention to me. What did he do? Reiterated over and over that I was better than that, than those guys. That I deserved so much more than the disrespect they served me. One would think he would be bitter, but instead he continued to give me everything, not only boys weren’t, but also everything my parents weren’t. Jeff was the only person I told about my nightmares, about my fear that something was wrong with me. When I had panic attacks (nearly every night before bed) Jeff would stay on the phone with me until I fell asleep. He stood up to jerks that talked trash about me. Over and over again he would tell me that I was lovable, that HE loved me, no matter what.
The night of his accident I wanted him to go to a party with me, but he was going on a triple movie date. Forrest Gump. I begged him not to go, mostly because I was supremely jealous of this new girl, stepping into my territory. There was no way a girlfriend would tolerate the intimacy of our friendship, but since I wouldn’t be his girlfriend, and I was busy fooling around with every guy in the school, I had no vote on the subject. He asked me to go along. Seventh wheel while watching him canoodle with some chick? No thanks.
For years I blamed myself for that decision. For letting my pride keep me from going along. If I had been there, I would have been able to stop it. Or, at the very least, if I had been there, I wouldn’t have to be HERE, now. I was so afraid of this girl stealing my Jeff, obviously it never occurred to me that the theft would be so permanent. I would watch them canoodle every day if it could bring him back. I would let the jealousy and heartbreak of watching her slowly take my place, eat me alive, if it meant his light was still shining bright, somewhere. Anywhere.
Malissa was driving her Dodge Omni, a mere month after getting her driver’s license; much too fast, in a 25mph zone, and didn’t make the hairpin turn, crashing into a tree. Four passengers, some of them also among my closest friends, crammed into the backseat. Jeff riding shot gun. None of them wearing seatbelts. The four in the back survived. Jeff and his would-be girlfriend did not.
I’m sitting in my house alone. No breath. No heartbeat. I’m trying to find someone to call. My older sister answers but has nothing in the way of calm or comfort. I try calling my mom at her friend’s house. I am unable to reach anyone. I’m not sure where my dad is. I sit at home, alone, for hours. When my mother finally arrives. I realize that I was better off alone. She is hysterical and her denial deeper than mine. She tries to convince me, that it’s not my Jeff, it’s someone else. There’s another Jeff with a similar last name, it must be him. But it is MY Jeff. He is gone. I can feel it in my bones. In the pit of my heart.
It is Easter weekend. I make it through the Saturday as a ghost. Wishing I was a ghost. If I am still and quiet enough perhaps I will just disappear. My mother offers to cancel Easter dinner. I tell her not to bother. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. But then the uncomfortable sympathy of my family is suffocating. All I want to be is alone. Our friend group gathers. I mean I know we gathered, but I remember nothing of it. Only those who have lost a deep love can fathom the numbness that takes over when it is gone. It’s not your breath it takes away, but your very being just sort of floats around you, unmoored. The body’s instinct to live stronger than the heart’s desire to fade away.
It has been 27 years since that day. I still think of Jeff daily. I have had people make the argument that we were kids, and likely would not even still be friends. Perhaps. But here is what I know; kids or not, Jeff’s was a love that changed the trajectory of my life. He was not only, my first experience with unconditional love, but I’ve also never been loved like that since. Love without expectation of anything in return.
As my grief softened over the years, the realization of my worth finally came. This magical, beautiful human loved ME. Would have done anything for ME. If in all his wisdom and intelligence, he saw fit to love and cherish me, surely I must possess some sort of value. I can hear him in my heart, “THAT’S what I’ve been trying to tell you, silly girl.”
The best way to honor the legacy of the loved ones we’ve lost, is to continue their work, by loving ourselves, as deeply as they did. If you were worthy of their love, surely you must be worthy of your own.
little victories 
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