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  • October 25, 2010

    Around this time of year when the leaves are falling, the colors are changing and there's a crisp breeze mixed with bight sunshine, I remember everything. What I felt, what I thought, what I was doing, how I felt and how much it hurt.

    My cousin had passed that very morning in an accident in North Aurora, IL.
    I found out around 7:00am. Sun was shinning, leaves were falling and there was a crisp breeze in the air.

    I don't know why I do that to myself. I place myself back in that moment and marinate in those dreadful feelings. Over and over again like if I'm trying to figure out why it happened and why I can't change it. I google her, look at past pictures, map out the accident site, like someone looking for something that is no longer there.

    Why? I can't change it now.

    I remember people's faces, I remember everyone's hurt.
    I remember I didn't want to go in and see her one last time.
    I stayed in my car and forced myself out.
    I remember the heavy feeling in my chest as I drove to the cemetery.
    I couldn't even swallow and the sun was extra bright, but cold.
    A cold October day.

    I remember everything too well in fact, that I relive it in my mind.
    Emotion by emotion. Minute by minute.
    In my own recollection of tortured agony.

    Over and over again.

    It pains me to remember.

    She was only 22.
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