As much as I try not to think about it, it still comes at me like a ton of bricks.  There are times in all of our lives when we had something horrible happen to us that we can’t seem to shake.  For me one of my worst, if not the worst, happened on April 7, 1986. 

The reason for this post is only for me to get this out.  I probobly shouldn’t publically blog this, but this is my only blog.  So pardon me as I share just a portion of what is truly inside.  These are thoughts and memories, and because this is now really my only journal it will stay here.  I believe in letting things out to help you, and right now I feel the need. 

One thing I know for certain is that we all die.  It’s inevitable.  Your loved pets die, your grandparents, parents, friends and spouse.  If we are lucky, we don’t live to see our children die.  For those that have, my heart goes out to you.  But dying is something we expect from those that are older.  If not older, then perhaps ill.  But car accidents, youth disease, and simple accidents do take those that we love as well.  I’d prefer never to have known death when I was young. 

In April of 1986 I was two months short of graduating high school.  I was a very different person then.  I wasn’t very nice.  I didn’t care what others thought or felt.  Only those that were close to me.  I had my parents, grandparents, a friend or two, my brother and sister and my boyfriend.  I took all of it for granted as we do when we are young.  I simply didn’t see past myself. 

My boyfriend Troy was really an amazing person.  He lived in San Leandro and was a year older than me.  We water ski’d, were in car clubs, and had a great time together.  His parents owned a car parts company and were doing very well.  His mom was a very nice lady, and his father and sisters were as well.  I considered them my new family. 

Troy and I dated for a year, broke up, then had been dating about a year come that April.  We talked of marriage, and it just seemed right.  We knew everyone would have a fit, afterall he was 19 and I was only 18.  But, young love you know?  You think you know everything at that age.

On April 7th that year, I went to his house for lunch.  He wasn’t working because he felt sick.  The flu if I remember rightly.  I had lunch there, and left him to go back to work.  Something that was strange was there were two guys at his door when I was leaving.  I asked what they wanted because they were from our school, but certainly weren’t from our "group" so to speak.  They were more of the trouble making kind.  We didn’t hang around with that group.

They said they wanted to ask Troy for a ride because one of them had a hurt leg (in an ace bandage or something and had a crutch).  This was odd, because Troy’s huge 4×4 truck which he was very well known for wasn’t there that day.  It was in the shop getting graphics put on it.  So it didn’t make sense they even knew he was there.  So I told them he was sick and I’d take them home, or where they needed to go.  I went two blocks with them and they told me that was far enough.  Another thing that made -0- sense to me, but I was late for work, so I didn’t care.  Dropped them off and jammed to work.

I got my first ticket that day right after leaving the house because I was speeding.  Who says 1980 Ford Pintos can’t go fast?  It was lucky I did get that ticket though, because it was time stamped. 

I got to work and called him when I got back in.  I remember we talked about having dinner and where to go when he said abruptly he didn’t feel good and would call me right back.  That was the last time I talked to him.

I called back almost immediately because I had a horrible feeling suddenly in my stomache.  Say what you want, but I did.  Enough to call his sister and beg her to get to the house that something was really wrong.  I panicked and told the company I had to leave.  The manager there, tried to calm me down and said that we should just try to call again.  We did.

When he called, Troy’s mother answered the phone.  She was hysterical.  Past that.  She said he was dead.  I don’t remember much other than bits and pieces after that.  I left the company and drove to the house.  I know that someone from the company was trying to stop me.  I must not have been in any shape to drive.  But I can’t remember that.

I remember the police at the house telling me he committed suicide.  They told me there was a note there saying he couldn’t handle breaking up with me again.  None of it made sense.  We weren’t even arguing.  It seemed like some movie scene.  Not real life.

I remember someone took me to the hospital to see him.  I stayed by him for sometime.  I don’t know how long.  It didn’t seem real.  I know someone took me home.

I wasn’t permitted to go to his funeral.  His friends and family hated me.  I found out sometime later by the priest that he was told he could not contact me and that I would have been ushered away from the church. 

It didn’t make sense then and 21 years later – the pain is still somewhere deep inside.  But I feel it every once in awhile.  Especially on April 7th of every year. 

It’s my own fault.  I suppose I just never mourned the loss.  Just in small amounts every year.

I had so much hate, anger, and confusion that it masked the sadness that I should have felt.  I turned into a much meaner and hateful person after that.  I only changed when I had my first baby.  After that, I concentrated on the well being of my children and my family.

But the damned pain is horrific.  Only second to that of his family who had to endure the worst of it.  Here I am 39 still wishing I could know why.