Coping With Grief

Lindsay Turner, 16, Canada

My name is Lindsay Turner. I am 16 and live in Canada. This is not fiction.

A wave of shock and unbearable grief washed over my now weakened, shaking body as I was told the news. A sob fell from my small quivering mouth. I screamed "NO NO NO" as the realization set in. Being at the young age of 11, I was just starting to understand and appreciate the factors and values of life; this one was untouched. I glanced outside of our old family kitchen window to see through my tear-flooded eyes a now browned leaf fall from the colored tree--fall was coming. With fall came happiness. With fall came my friend and the joy that she brought along. I would only ever see her through fall and winter.

My mother and I walked around the dark, quiet room filled with sobs and tears. I was not prepared to look at my friend for one final time. She looked as though she would sit up and crack a joke as usual, but she didn't. Her pale face was formed in a peaceful smile to stay forever while she slept. I was doing fine until ladies walked up to me one by one and hugged me to say that things would somehow be okay. Once again, those warm tears flowed back into my eyes, choking out the scene that would stay imprinted in my mind forever. I was helped out to the car to sob as loud and hard as I could.

As I dressed into the old church choir gown that I was to sing in, memories flashed into my mind of Christmas pageants we had played in together using the gowns for angel costumes. Oh how she loved being the angel; her long blond hair fit the part perfectly. Sitting down in the hard wooden pews, I looked beyond the glistening coffins, to see a church filled with family and friends, some standing, some sitting for the lack of chairs. My eyes started to fill up with the same salty tears that I am now used to, but as I started to sing, all that came out was a small, squeaky noise. I could hardly even talk. I just sat and watched the small candle's flames dance around and light up the colorful flowers.

I watched as her coffin and her mother's were buried into the soft, dismal ground. The same sad hymns were being sung by a saddened crowed. This is not what the once vibrant, happy girl would have wanted. A small smile spread across my pale white face, and I remembered what she used to say about things like this. She always brought a smile to a person's face; she also never lost her smile. Her pudgy face would light up, her cheeks would rise up and get all rosy when she laughed.

Now, six long and tiring years later, I have learned to cope in an awkward way. I visit her beautiful grave often and tell her about my new life that I have grown into. When I sit alone at home I often think about all of those years ago, sitting on the cold kitchen floor crying because I lost my best friend. I remember my mother's words. "Allison and her mother have been in an accident--they didn't make it." I remember the feeling of hatred for that other car that hit the passenger side so swiftly. I remember the picture of the car on the front page of the local newspaper. I remember the words printed so clearly: "It was a swift death." Most of all, I remember Allison and her mother. Allison was my best friend. She always called me princess. I love her very much and will never forget her bouncy attitude toward life.

In August 1994, my best friend's life was taken away by a freak accident that was never to be explained. Two cars collided. Mrs. Gillian Fletcher and Allison Fletcher's lives were taken instantly. My mind used to be powered by a hatred for the other driver who escaped with a scratch, but I turned to God and sorted out my problems. I will never understand why two young lives had to be taken away that day, but I know that it is all better now. My sisters say that three lives were taken that day, mine included. I grew up with a more mature view of life and now value those things that I learned. Maybe my life was taken too, but I created a new one.