May 11, 1991

A day that will forever be embedded in my memory. A day that will hold a saddening and heart-wrenching meaning. A day, that I wish I could travel back in time to and undo the events that unraveled that one, fateful, spring afternoon in Auburn, New York. And, sadly, the day before Mother's Day...

I had just returned from an out-of-town field trip with my 7th grade class; the sun was shining, I was enjoying the peace and quiet of being home in our rural country home. Although we did live in the country, we lived on a fairly busy road, where cars whizzing by at 55 mph was typically the norm. This day was exceptionally peaceful. So peaceful that it almost seemed that a car passing by disrupted the remarkable tranquility of this particular moment in time. I remember the intricate details of that day in May, as if it were yesterday.

I remember my mother running out to the grocery for a few things. I remember all the windows in our huge, old farmhouse being open, the curtains blowing in the crisp, spring breeze. I remember the sun shining brighter than I'd ever seen it shine in New York. I remember my 11-year old brother, Jeremy, calling on the phone to ask if he could spend the night at a friend's house - the friend's house that he'd ridden his bicycle to time and time again, without ever a thought of the inherent risk of those whizzing past him in their 55 mile-an-hour cars. I mean, he had been riding this path on his bicycle for years.

I also remember, distinctly, my mother on the phone with Jeremy; "Noo, buddy, get pedaling your little butt home - you don't need to spend another night over there...". Click.

I spent many an afternoon in my second-floor bedroom, this particular day was no different. I was doing what most 13-year old girls do best - chatting with a girlfriend on the phone, probably discussing this week's latest crush or which NKOTB song was soooo cool at that moment. I lay on my bed, tummy down, probably chomping on bubble gum and twirling a piece of hair around my finger. My mother, just below my window, was washing her car in the driveway.

Screeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeech! Never, ever will I ever forget the sound of those tires squealing just a short jaunt down the road from our house.

I immediately blew it off - Probably just some idiot teenager screwing around, trying to impress his girlfriend.

But, in a matter of minutes, our worlds change forever. A man in a pick-up truck pulled in our driveway: Where's Jeremy?... I think something terrible has happened...

I can't even begin to imagine the horrors that ensued when my mother arrived at the site of the accident. The accident that took the life of my 11-year old brother that beautiful, tranquil spring day 17 years ago today.

The events that followed are painfully clear but as I write this, the memories are more raw than I thought they'd be, even after this much time has passed.

I never understood why God took such innocence and, why, so unexpectedly he had to leave this world. I always felt that it was brutally unfair to have ripped a child from his mother and father, a brother from his sister, and a friend from his classmates. But, as time goes on, I know that Jeremy is here with me, watching over me and holding a spot upstairs for me when its time to see him again.

I love you, booger and I miss you everyday.