liam

I can’t get his face out of my head.

His bowl cut-bright blonde hair, deep green eyes and laugh that would light up a room. His excitable, 6 year-old body running around every coffee table and corner imaginable in our household. His love for soccer, friends, food, and life in general. He made everything fun and worth living, he was my little brother and he looked up to me.

At the time I was 8 years old, twelve years ago in August. He scored his first goal in his third game after practicing and screamed “YES!” while running up to me telling me he did it and asking if I saw. My mom and I were laughing and so proud of him–also happy we got it on camera.

Then all hell broke loose because I asked the question. Its a question I hate, and has been repeated often through out my life; “Can we get ice-cream?! to celebrate?!” He flipped, wanting to go so bad even though we had to get home for dinner. My mom being the awesome person she used to be said it was ok. Once we were leaving, it was an average Baskin & Robbins, my mom got into the drivers side of her old sudan, I got in the passengers seat and he got in the back behind the passengers seat. Before putting on my seat belt he said, “sissy! come sit by me!” I rolled my eyes and said “alright coming!” I sat behind my mom’s drivers seat and off we went.

On the drive home he began dozing off with a cone in his hand, daiquiri ice flavored ice cream dripping down the sides, he couldn’t have looked any more peaceful to me. At the time I may not have been thinking those exact thoughts but looking back now he was the most beautiful little boy I’d ever seen. He was so sweet, innocent, gentle, a little crazy here and there but was always polite and willing to help water plants or attempt folding laundry.

The next thing I know, we’re driving down a familiar road I drove down every day until leaving for college, with a stop sign off to the side–where cars are supposed to stop their vehicle before getting onto the road we were on. I hear my mom scream some phrase but I can’t remember what it is. I look over to the window he began resting his head on and all I saw were incredibly bright lights. My stomach dropped, my hands immediately went to him, pulling him toward me as if it would do something worth while. Our car spun, glass went everywhere; in my hair, my legs, my hands, my arms. I couldn’t see and all I could do was scream. Suddenly I open my eyes, and he is laying across my legs covered in blood glass and other debris. I was in there alone, my mom had gotten out, shut the door and began to cry knelt down on the cement, hands cupped to her face–leaving me to scream “no” and cradle his limp body in my arms until paramedics showed up 6 minutes and 14 seconds later.

The girl who hit us was texting when she ran a stop sign, “unknowingly” also having a few drinks and speeding up to almost 50 mph. She said she was sorry and “didn’t think anyone was coming” down this road where people are always coming down.

She took him from me, and I’m supposed to pretend it never happened. She made my mom hardly speak and neglect her other kids. She ruined my life..

So here I am, almost 12 years later regretting my whole life. He could’ve been with me everyday through everything, I could have taught him things, he could be coming up to visit me this weekend or we could have just gotten off the phone right now or something. Most importantly, he would be graduating high school this year and be incredibly thrilled about it. He would probably have been a full IB student as me and my older brother were, but more intelligent because he was always the smartest and most curious little kid. Every mistake I make I think he would have never done that, why am I here instead? Why did he tell me to come sit by him when I would have just as easily died sitting in the passengers seat? Why did I have to ask that stupid question? Why am I at fault just as much as that *****?

I don’t know what anyone will think of this. I’ve just never written out what happened before and I’ve always really, really wanted to. I need to get the words out of my head because these memories are all I think about.