The Green Light

I remember the day my life changed. The day my world was turned upside down. I remember everything about the moment before my life changed. The snaggletooth smile that could light up a room, followed by his adorable laugh. The blond hair bopping in the wind as she sang along to her favorite song. The streak of grey in his beard as he tried to contain his laughter at my continuous off-key singing. Then, the light turned green.

They say your life flashes before your eyes. I always thought that was just something people said. How can my entire life flash before my eyes in the blink of an eye? It’s not enough time to see the life I lived. The life we lived. To feel all the love I felt. I would need a lifetime to see my lifetime.

I don’t remember the impact, the glass flying everywhere. I don’t remember seeing my childhood. My first love. My first heartbreak. I don’t remember the 2-second overview of my life. I wish I did. I wish in that moment I could have lived my life all over again. Saying I do to the man I loved. Giving birth to the loves of my life. I don’t remember anything worth mentioning. I remember the green light. The light that changed my life. Such an insignificant detail. A light that I have seen thousands of times that is now etched in my brain.

I want to replay it in my head. To remember your last words. To hear their laughter one last time. To find one detail that I can change in that moment, so that moment would never happen. I see the green light. Always the green light.

There’s no comfort in being a sole survivor. The pity looks. The continuous phone calls. The incessant hugging. The endless supply of casseroles. I don’t even like casseroles. I’m not sure how the casserole became the cornerstone of the mourning community. But the worst part is the quiet. The deafening quiet. There are some days I hear voices in the walls. They speak to me. I can’t make out what they are saying but I know it’s you. I try to escape it. I try to keep the remainder of my sanity but it’s gently fleeting.

Some wear the sole survivor as a badge of honor. To me, it feels like a heavy coat that I can’t take off. It feels like the ending of joy and the beginning of my sorrow.

I sometimes sit at that same light. Waiting. I hear the cars go by but I sit there trying to remember. Trying to remember anything in that moment. The light turns green and I feel it. I feel the sudden gush of wind. I feel my hair flow in the breeze. I hear the distant horn blowing. The echo of screams. The muffled voices. The laughter has gone. My world has ended. No, I want to forget.

The human brain is a funny thing. It knows that not remembering is easier. Remembering the laughter seconds before the green light is easier than hearing the screams that came after.

As the years pass, I try to forget the sorrow. I try to remember only the laughter. I try to pick up the fragile pieces of my life and live. Hour by hour, day by day. Some days I laugh at the memories, other days I struggle to get out of bed. The walls no longer speak to me. I have finally eaten all of the casseroles.

They say it gets better. I guess in time it does. One day you wake up and you decide to live. I decided to live. I choose to remember the moment when my life was complete. That is the moment I will forever carry in my heart. I choose to remember my life before the light turned green.