CHAPTER 14

Getting Through

About two months after the accident, I had my first intense conversation with that friend we were all so worried about. Everyone had been quietly thinking about her, hoping the worst had passed and she’d healed from what had happened. My brother had come out from Virginia Beach to stay with our family, and I learned that in the wake of the accident he had made a point to take her aside and tell her that I asked about her often and that I loved her. He wanted to make sure she was okay. We all did. I’d hoped it had been enough, laughing with her and having her see me in rehab really doing well.

There was a little garden area at the rehab center. It was always so freezing cold inside that I’d spend as much time as I could sitting out in this garden. It was hot out, around 100 degrees. I used to make people sit out there and stay with me, even though for them, it would have been more comfortable inside. My body had lost the ability to regulate its temperature, so I always felt cold. Some days, I simply could not stand being inside.

One afternoon, this friend was visiting. I had never brought up the incident because I didn’t want to upset her. I knew she’d come talk to me when she was ready. And that day finally came.

Her face wasn’t so much sad as it was very serious. We had made our way to the garden and she said, “I’m really sorry this happened.” I think she just wanted to hear that I had forgiven her.

For me, it wasn’t even about forgiveness. I’d have had to have thought that she did something really wrong to forgive her. She hadn’t. It could have happened to anyone, and I didn’t blame her.

She said, “I feel really bad about this. I’m so sorry.”

I said, “Don’t be and don’t feel bad. I’m okay. I’m honestly at peace with it. You should be, too.”

I had made peace with it in a very short amount of time. During this conversation I knew she had not yet found peace in the same way I had, but I thought she would soon. I was naive as to just how much she was hurting and how bad it was at that moment. I assumed that since I was okay, she’d be okay—that she just needed to hear me say I was all right.

She nodded. She was holding it together. “Are we okay?” she asked.

“Of course. I love you. You’re one of my best friends. I don’t blame you for this.”

I thought, or maybe I hoped, that that would be enough. She didn’t cry or break down, but deep down I guess she was putting on a good front. She was being strong for me, but she must have been hurting inside.

“When you’re upset, talk to me. Call me. I will talk about this with you anytime,” I said. I told her she didn’t need to pay anyone to help her sort through her feelings, that I was there whenever she needed to speak, day or night. Maybe that was a mistake, but not really knowing how deeply affected she was, I suppose I believed she could shake it off. The problem was that we were accepting two different realities. We were both badly hurt that day, but in two completely different ways. I could work hard to make the best of my situation. She really couldn’t. There was no upside to living with that hurt. There was no finding a way to put a bad situation to good use. It was just a tragic event that could have happened to any of us that night. I’ve had my share of horseplay in the water, that’s for sure. Everyone has.

She thanked me that day, and I thought all was sorted out and we’d both be okay, leaning on each other for strength. Sadly, the worst was yet to come for her. She’d have to face this all later when the media circus began, which none of us saw coming.