I received some incredibly sad news today and have been wrapping my mind around it ever since. I just found out my friend, J, who was DDing for a few friends Saturday night, was killed by a drunk driver on his way home (the AJC wrote an in-depth article about it
here). He had just dropped off his friends and was only a couple blocks away from his apartment downtown. A little while ago, he had just accepted a new job at the state Capitol, and was engaged. It seems so unfair.
J became my friend when we were interns at the Governor's office last fall. He was a great person to turn to as we both were navigating our roles in this big new world of state politics. Over our mutual love of Chick-fil-a (which was just down the street from our offices) I spent a lot of time chatting with him about different things -- politics, philosophy, Sporcle quizzes. He told me about his dreams of working in politics or possibly doing Teach for America; I told him about my aspirations of becoming a political reporter. I told him about what it was like being a newlywed; he was planning on proposing to his girlfriend soon. He was even one of the first people who knew about my plans for a blog back when it was just a neophyte idea, and he encouraged it. He didn't think it was a vain or trivial thing.
It's a funny thing to say goodbye to someone. I haven't seen him since our last day of our internship; he continued on in the Governor's intern program as a fellow. I remember him saying to come back and visit often. It wasn't really goodbye, we said.
We never saw each other again. It makes me regret all the times we could've met up again, but never got a chance to do. We had chances, but we let them slip. I let them slip, I am very ashamed to admit.
When I heard the news about his death, I was really shocked and incredibly sad. And somehow not surprised at what he was doing when he died. He decided to be a DD for him and his friends on their night out. He was being a responsible person, trying to make sure people were safe that night. He may have saved their lives letting them out of the car when he did.
Knowing about this just makes everything seem to go into perspective. It makes everything else that's annoying in life -- crappy workdays, finicky cars, bills to pay -- seem so trivial. Having all of those things seems actually wonderful because it means being alive to experience joy, sadness and yes, annoyance.
J deserved another good 80 years, and now he won't get them.
I know I am sounding super sentimental, but really, all of this just makes me want to achieve more on my bucket list and just be a better person overall.
I guess what I'm saying is, go hug people you love. Write a long letter to a friend you haven't spoken to in awhile. Splurge on an item you've had your eye on for awhile. Go big. You are living, and breathing.
