It Was Saturday, October 21, 2000.

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It was Saturday October 21, 2000. I was ten. I decided I wanted to play with my dolls hair, but for some reason I wanted to be outside. I walked out in my pajama’s holding my American Girl Doll and sat down on the familiar cement walkway that lead up to my front porch. I remember the feeling of the warm cement on the back of my legs. I was looking down when my friend Trey and his mom Margie walked up. They said hi and I looked up. We had a short conversation where Trey told me he would be going to Rachel’s birthday party later that day and that they were walking downtown to buy her a present. They left, and soon after I went back inside my house.

My best friend Kelly called me later that day and invited me over. I got dressed, grabbed a sweatshirt, and walked over to Kelly’s. Just as it was getting dark my mom called and told me that she coming to pick me up. I was out on the trampoline when I heard my moms van pull into the driveway. I walked over to it, pulled open the sliding door and got in. My mom started crying as she told me that she had something important to tell me. In the split second before she told me I thought about what it might be. I thought about my dad, and the fact that at the time he was quite often caught stealing my mom’s pain medication. I figured he had done this again, and that I would be able to go back to Kelly’s. Then the words came out, “Trey was playing tag at Rachel’s birthday party when a tree branch fell off and landed on him. He is in the hospital and probably won’t make it.” I sat there in silence listening to the screams of my brother and mom. The van backed out of the driveway and we headed home.

The minute I walked into my house the phone rang. My mom picked it up. It was my dad calling from the hospital to give us an update. My mom then gave me the update that Trey was brain dead. He was only alive because life support was making his heart beat. He would never smile, laugh, or talk with me again. He was no longer truly alive. I walked up to my room, sat down at my desk, and screamed. Then for the first time of my life I prayed. I prayed that his parents would make it through everything, and that I would be okay. I took out a piece of binder paper, and with gold ink I wrote a letter to Trey. I told him what a great friend he was, how much I would miss him, and that I truly loved him.

I woke up the next day and was told he had been taken off life support. His parents had donated his organs. I don’t remember anything from that day. I was completely numb.

On Monday I headed to school with my bags packed for fifth grade camp. When I walked up all the students were talking about “the kid that got hit by the tree.” I started crying and wasn’t sure if I would be able to make it through the week. I told my friends that I had grown up with Trey. I spent the next five days hiking in the woods, and it comforted me. I was in the place that had created and ended Trey’s life, with friends that cared about me as much as I cared about Trey. I managed to have one of the best times of my life that week, which made me realize that my prayers had been answered. I would be okay.

Now seven years later I look back on my experience with Trey’s death in awe. I’m amazed by my ten-year-old self and the fact that I found hope during the hardest time of my life. Since then I have lost far too many friends. Each time I think about my experience with Trey, and I know that everything will be okay. I head out to the beach, the forest, or even just a meadow, and everything begins to work itself out.





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