I was just thinking about Jimmy, a close friend of mine.
The summer before grade 12, my friend Jimmy was walking home from a party when a drunk driver hit and killed him. His body landed 40 feet from where he was hit. He died instantly.
I went online on an early Saturday morning. It was July 31, 2004, and a friend messaged me, telling me that "Jimmy died last night." I refused to believe it. I thought it was a cruel, mean-spirited, totally not funny joke. I called Jimmy's house, and when his mom answered the phone, I said, "Hi, is Jimmy there?"
All I could hear for what felt like forever was breathing on the other end of the line, and then she said with the deepest sadness I've ever heard, "Oh, sweetie, he was hit by a car last night."
I paused and then replied: "Is he okay?"
She inhaled deeply, then exhaled, and said, "No. Beth, I'm so sorry... he didn't make it."
That afternoon, my then-boyfriend, two friends, and I drove to Jimmy's house to offer support to his family. Jimmy's mom and dad invited us in. We sat around the kitchen table, in shock. We didn't say much. We shared a few memories and laughs, but mostly we cried.
I would never hear his voice again. I would never again hear his infectious laugh, hug him, skip school with him, or share our deepest thoughts and secrets. Jimmy was gone, and I couldn't understand why. He would never graduate high school, become an adult, or have a wife and children. Jimmy's mom and dad lost a son, and Jimmy's younger brother was now an only child. It was so unfair.
In the coming months, I combed through the newspaper each day: I cut out every article about Jimmy, slipped it into a plastic sleeve, and put it in a binder. I would read the articles over and over, pouring over the words and telling myself I would never forget and never let him go.
A week or so after Jimmy died, 100+ people showed up at what came to be known as "Jimmy's Corner", the intersection where he was killed. We hugged, laughed, cried, and when the clock struck the time that he died, each of us lit a candle and walked him the rest of the way home.
My life has moved on, while Jimmy will only ever be the memory of a 17-year-old boy.
