Memory Lane

February 1, 2011
By Steve Puffer BRONZE, New Canaan, Connecticut
Steve Puffer BRONZE, New Canaan, Connecticut
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

When I am given the chance to suffer or look past it, I lean towards suffering. Obviously, nobody enjoys to suffer I try to look past the grief but sad images always haunt my dreams and mind. Thus making the grieving process almost impossible.

On a cold January day , sitting in my dorm room at school, suffering was breathing down my neck. My cell phone rings, and the sounds on the other line make my heart stop. My body becomes heavy; my eyes turn into faucets as I fall to the floor. The idea that somebody so young and so close to me could ever pass away was unthinkable. Being in a different state than all my friends is hard enough; hearing that my close friend Chris had passed away was impossible to swallow. Being so far away from him gave me the idea that things could have been different if I stayed at home and never attended this prison like school. Images come back into my brain, remembering all the days Chris and I would walk back to my house after middle school. And most of all, I remembered this one dog we would play with every day on our walk back from the bus. Monday-Friday almost every single day would consist of us trying to find new shortcuts to my house but never forgetting to stop at Mr. Robertson’s house so we could play with Shadow the dog.

Life and everything around me slowed down as of January 8, 2011; nothing really seemed to matter anymore. I kept to myself but still participated in my hockey game, but as I glided up and down the ice there was nothing on my mind about hockey. Everything was about Chris. Skating around, looking at all the players, telling myself that they don’t know what actual pain is. Yes, maybe getting hit hard against the boards can hurt for a few seconds, and maybe a bruise will pop up. But the pain I was feeling could not be compared to physical bumps and bruises. I was hit hard several times during this 52 minute game, and even went back to the locker room with a bloody nose and elbow. None of this external pain could compare to the internal struggle that I was feeling. The emotional pain I felt left me quiet and lonely. There were times during this day that I tried to make myself believe that this was all a dream and that everyone was safe and healthy. But, this fantasy was a lie and I got a true reality check once I received a big hug from my mom after the game. Feeling overwhelmed I did not hold back and my emotions went wild as I held my mother tightly.

Arriving at my house, things still felt too quiet and spooky. I had to leave and wander to my hometown of Greenwich, Connecticut. Specifically I drove to my old neighborhood, where Chris and I had been neighbors. I parked my car directly where the old bus stop was, and decided I would walk the path back to my old house. As I walked I felt the presence of my good friend and neighbor Chris Harris. I could see how much this one street had changed in 5 years, and how much me and Chris sadly grew apart from each other. I finally arrived at the Robertson’s mailbox; I looked over to see if Shadow was jumping on the fence like always. Today, he was gone, gone like Chris. At this point I finally collapsed, and once again my body became weak, and I found myself on the sidewalk with tears streaming down my face. At this point I could not think of anything else to do but pray, I prayed for Chris; I prayed for my family and friends, and I hoped this would never happen to me again, that death would never come into my life again.

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