Everyone’s had someone they know die. It is inevitable that someone will, eventually, and the odds that someone does not have someone they know who has died are slim to none.

Well, out of everyone who has had someone die, how many were standing right next to him or her when they bit? How many survived something that the dead person died of? Not many have either, but almost no one had to go through both.

You just can’t stop thinking about it. You just think, ‘I should have been the one that had to go through surgery. I should be the one dying.’ But you aren’t the one there. You don’t have a choice.

It isn’t like I blame the person in the other car. In fact, I hope they go on to live a full and healthy life. Like my Grandpa Eddie, on my mom’s side, always said, “Don’t blame the one who hurts another. Blame the booze that they were on.” And I took that quote to heart. Actually, I think the guy was high, personally, but the bottles of beer in the person’s car lead others to think otherwise. I literally wrote a letter to Budweiser complaining. Hey, I was ten, I didn’t know any better.

The date is forever imprinted in my mind. January 22nd, 2003. We (as in my mother, baby brother, and I,) were driving down I-94, minding our own business, coming back from a family reunion. Then it happened.

A truck, white, with a guy and a dog in it, going 90mph, hit three cars, skidded, turned, and rammed headfirst into our car.

My brother was dead on impact, my mom badly injured, and I had a few scrapes and a broken leg. At this point I was unconscious, but I can guess what happened. Someone called 911; the police, firefighters, and ambulance came, cut us out, and brought us to the hospital. I woke up the next day, demanding to see my mother.

She was a sad sight to see. She was unconscious, broken ribs, broken leg, internal bleeding, and a bad head injury. Dr. Elliot J. Bergeron said that the leg had to be repaired surgically, and the internal bleeding needed to be stopped.

“She’ll get through it,” he said.

Three days later she went into surgery. Turns out that there was nothing they could do. Her leg was fine, her bleeding was stopped, but her other injuries would take her. They put her on a respirator and waited.

On January 31st, she was awake, and told me the news.

“Amber, honey… I’m not going to make it. I asked them to take me off the machines.”

Before she finished, I was already in tears. I had seen it coming.

“I… I want you to take care of your father and sisters. Your dad will need it, and your sisters will not understand. Be strong, Amber.”

As you can guess, I had to grow up very fast. As much as I was sad, I was angry, scared. I took it out on everyone. I yelled at my friends. I yelled at my dad. I kicked my cat, I was so angry.

The next day, my mom wanted to say her last words. We all gathered around.

“I just want to thank all of you,” she began. “You don’t know how hard this is.”

She then said something special about everyone. But the last thing she said before she went into the coma was this: “Don’t be mad at him.”

Though she did not say a name, we knew who she meant.

My mom’s eyes closed. My dad began to cry, and nodded to the doctors.

Everyone left but me. I stayed and watched while they turned off the machines. I watched as my mom died.