Two Years Ago …
Two years ago tonight I received the call that would change so many lives forever.
Your mom on the other end of the line … a shakey, tearful voice and words being said to me that I could hear but could not comprehend.
“jumped at a party”
“CPR”
“hospital”
Utter disbelief.
Until, I walked into the trauma bay and saw you.
A site no family member should ever have to see.
I can close my eyes and still see you lying there. I can hear the beeping notifications of the alarms connected to your body going off. Staring at a monitor with flashing colored numbers, numbers that solidified to my nurse brain that this was devastatingly bad. Blank faces of people working on you and pleading eyes for more hands, more doctors to come and help.
I can smell the familiar scent of a hospital. A combination of alcohol swabs, floor cleaner, and spilt IV antibiotics. A scent I easily breathed in almost daily for more than 20 years prior to this night. The scent of “work”, so familiar I barely noticed it before—now immediately transports me back to that night. A smell that almost makes me ill every time I’ve walked into work thereafter.
Two years ago, life was easy. I’m sure the me from two years ago would have been stressed about starting to plan matching outfits for holiday photos to be plastered on a carefully planned out Christmas card. Yearly daunting tasks that I enjoyed, once upon a time. Two-years-ago-me didn’t know this level of trauma, didn’t know media headlines, didn’t know court cases, didn’t know how, with one phone call, everything our family knew could change.
Two-years-ago-me didn’t know hate and love can simultaneously grow in a heart. That grief and happiness could coexist. That tears fall at the most unexpected times and don’t need a reason, nor ask for permission. That laughing can bring a feeling of immense guilt. That strangers who had never met my nephew, would show up and continue to say his name two years later.
Two years ago there weren’t candles lit in front of houses, or orange ribbons tied on trees. Teen violence was something happening quietly behind the scenes, not in news headlines every night.
Preston, you have lit up the darkness:
Your favorite color has swept through the state.
You have brought awareness.
You have passed a law.
You have assembled an army.
Your voice was never silenced, it was transferred to those who now speak for you, and it grows louder with each passing day.
Two years ago;
Seems like forever ago.
Two years ago;
Feels like yesterday.
-written by Melissa Lord, Preston’s Aunt
