In October of 2002, I was a 19-year-old sophomore at UGA. I
spent the evening of Thursday, October 3 much like I did most nights of my life
those days—finishing up my school work and then spending time chatting with my
friends on AOL Instant Messenger. That night I remember chatting with several
of my friends from home—the following day many of us were going to be traveling
home to attend our alma mater’s football game and enjoy a weekend of hometown
fun. Although I loved my school and my life in Athens, I was more than a little
pumped at the prospect of a weekend home in Augusta—especially one filled with
fun plans with high school friends. I spent several hours that evening IMing
with my friend Holly. Holly was several years younger than me and still lived
at home and attended our high school. We’d met and become friends while I’d
still been in school because we were both active in band, but our friendship had
grown and sustained even while I’d been away at college—primarily due to the
convenience of IMing and the fact that both of us had blogs (Open Diary). I
know—blogging in 2002? We were like the frontrunners for this thing. So anyway,
we spent some time chatting that night—we would see each other the following
night at the football game, and probably grab some food afterward with our
group of mutual friends—and then said good night. I was heading to bed. She was
going to get a snack and do the same.
On Friday morning, October 4, I awoke to the news that my
friend Holly, along with her parents, had died during the night when their
house burned down.
Even now—10 years later—I sob when I write these words. She died that night. Probably a very
short time after we finished chatting. While I enjoyed my peaceful slumber,
Holly died of smoke inhalation in her home that had no working smoke detectors.
I felt like the world stopped spinning. And isn’t it funny
how in these situations, it’s suddenly all about me? My world stopped
spinning. I was so distraught. But
that’s how grieving is, I suppose. All you can think about is yourself.
Well the main thing I felt, at first, was guilt. It might
not make sense, but I spent years feeling guilty that I hadn’t stayed up later
chatting with her. If I had, maybe she would have smelled the smoke and been
able to wake up her parents. But I didn’t. I wanted to sleep. And so she went
to bed too, unaware that it would be her last time. And because grief makes you
a little crazy, I felt guilty. I could
have stopped this tragedy, and I didn’t. I chose to sleep. I don’t feel
that way now. I know it wasn’t my fault. But I still wonder if this story might
be different if I’d stayed up a little later that night.
I guess besides sadness, obviously, the main emotion I
remember feeling (and still do, to some extent) was anger. I was angry at Holly’s
parents because I’d heard that they were both smokers and that is why they
disconnected their smoke detectors—because their cigarette smoke would cause
them to go off. I don’t even know if that’s true (well, I do know they were
smokers), but it made me mad to think that it might have been. If you want to ruin your own health, fine.
But you stole a vibrant, intelligent, and kind sixteen year old girl from this
world with your choice. THAT isn’t fair. Never mind that anger made no
sense—they died, too. Never mind that they OBVIOUSLY didn’t intend for that to
happen, if in fact the smoke detector rumor was even true. It just made me feel
a little better to be able to point some blame somewhere.
I was angry with God, of course. Because really God? How could He let this
happen? I believed in God then, and I trusted Him to be a God who loved, a God
who helped, a God who protected. I didn’t have any room in my mind for a God
that let awful things happen to innocent children. I couldn’t reconcile my
image of the kind, gentle shepherd with the God who sat idly by while peoples’
houses burned down. While neighbors rushed in to see their friends already
dead. While high schoolers wept at the loss of the clarinet player in the front
row. I don’t understand that God. And I don’t know how He plans to use this
tragedy for His glory, like He says He does. I hope He does. Maybe He has, and
I just haven’t seen it. Because ten years later, I still just feel sad.
You want to know the worst part of this story? Holly had an
older sister. I don’t know her name. I never did. She was much older than Holly
(and me), and had never moved to Augusta with the rest of their family. I
believe that at the time she was in grad school in Chicago. And on October 4,
2002, she awoke to the news that her entire family was gone.
I think of this sister so often. I can’t imagine how she
felt. I think of how sad this tragedy made me—and I was only a casual friend of
Holly’s, at best. So I multiply my sadness and anger and tears by a billion,
and I bet that’s how Holly’s sister felt. Feels. I don’t know how you ever get
over something like this. But I pray that she has, or that she will. Wherever
she is, I pray that she has found friends and maybe new family (by marriage or
something) that have taken her in and given her a place to call home. I hope
that she clings to God when she’s sad, even if she doesn’t fully comprehend the
way He works.
I wish I could talk
to Holly's sister, just once, and tell her that I
will never forget. I haven’t. For ten years, I’ve carried the memory of
Holly with me. I remember her smile, her sarcastic sense of humor, and her
emotionally open blogging. I remember her constantly changing the CDs in my car
when I gave her rides, searching for her favorite songs. I remember our shared
passion for band (both marching and concert) and the dorky conversations we
enjoyed. I think of her and sob every
time I listen to Sussex Mummer’s Christmas
Carol, a song that we both loved. I remember that every time she wrote her
name, she drew a star next to it. Her life was too short-- and I only knew her
for a few years of it—but it was beautiful.
If Holly were still with us, she would be 26 now. I can only
imagine what her life would be like—she was ambitious and smart, motivated and
talented—she could be anything she wanted to be. I have confidence that we
would still be friends, even if it were just by means of blogging. I mean, we
were blogging in 2002. People that
dedicated to the cause would definitely still be doing it. And I bet you all
would love her blog, too. She would be able to tell us what new music to be
listening to, and what books to read—she was always good at that.
I wish things had gone differently during the early hours of
October 4, 2002. I wish I had told Holly how much I appreciated her friendship,
how she made so many of our lives more full. I wish she’d had the opportunity to
grow up and see where life would take her- to spread her wings and fly. I wish that
at the football game on October 4, my friends and I could have been laughing
and cheering on the band, instead of sobbing as they donned black armbands and
left Holly’s spot open on the field. I wish I knew why God works the way He
does. I wish I were better at trusting that His plan is actually best.
Holly’s sister…wherever, whoever you are: I want you to know
that her life was not in vain. She made her world more beautiful and I will
never, ever forget her.
