It’s been two months since I last saw him. Every day since the accident I told myself that I would visit him, talk with him - tell him I was sorry. But every time I got in the car, I broke, every ounce of courage that I had faltered away into a black hole in my heart that shredded hope and produced guilt. It’s been two months and god have I missed him. I missed his smile and his laugh, his scent and his voice. I knew that I should go visit him, but I never do. Something holds me back, something I can never figure out. It’s just a feeling and it never goes away.

Today shouldn’t have been any different. I should have stayed in bed, I should have made any desperate attempt that would keep me from the hurt that was most certainly going to come. But I didn’t. Unlike every other day that has come between the day of the accident and today I made my way downstairs in time for breakfast. To any other family this would have been a normal occurrence, but for me this was a huge feat. My mother stepped away from the stove where she was frying bacon and flipping eggs and openly gawked at me, and my father put down his newspaper with a surprised expression his face. 

“Are you okay, Becca? Do you need anything?” His surprise quickly turned into concern. I hadn’t been out of bed before ten o’clock for two months and hardly ate one meal a day. If my daughter came downstairs casually one morning after all that I would be concerned too. But, the smell of bacon was appealing this morning strangely enough and I felt that if I slept anymore I would slowly sink into my mattress and become part of the fabric, leaving my parents in a state of sorrow for the rest of their lives. And that thought it was fueled what I said next, and expectantly, what I said felt true.

“Yeah, dad. I’m fine.” I’m sure my parents didn’t fully believe that I was fine, considering what I’ve been through and considering what I had put them through as well. But, the fact of the matter was I did feel okay, I wasn’t perfect, I probably would never feel perfect again, but fine? Yes, I was fine.

My mother fell out of her state of shock, quickly put the food on the table and had me sit down. I knew she still felt guilt for what had happened that night. I knew that she would never feel like she could make it up to me. Her actions were not at fault though, mine were. It was my actions that hurt the people I loved most, my stupidity that sent me and everyone around me into the state that we were in. And that guilt - that was the thing that kept me in bed - that kept me away from him, that held a strong hold over me and it was because of that guilt that I finally did what I was supposed to do for the last two months.

“I’m going to see Duke today.” The words rushed out my mouth, and this time my parents weren’t surprised. They knew this was coming, they knew I couldn’t keep away. They knew that every time I got in that car I was reliving that night over and over again, they knew that they’d have to let me see him. The understanding in their eyes relieved me, I didn’t have the strength to put up a fight. I got up from the table and kissed them both on the check before heading upstairs to change.

When I came downstairs twenty minutes later in a pair of jeans, a sweater and my scuffed up boots with my hair tied back in a ponytail I felt normal again. Over the past few months I showered as little as possible and practically lived in my pajama shorts. Now I dressed like a normal seventeen year old girl and finally had an excuse to wash my long blonde hair other than not wanting to be gross. I picked up the car keys and walked out of the house, I saw my parents watching from the upstairs window of their bedroom. They did that every day and rushed down when they saw me having my breakdown. It didn’t happen today – I tuned the key in the ignition without a second thought and swiftly backed out of the driveway. I made my way across town, music turned off, and going over every little detail of what I was going to say to him.

Duke. His face came to mind - his structured jawline, dirty blonde hair that was almost brown and bright green eyes. I remembered the day when I first met him, I let my friends drag me out to some random college guy’s party for my seventeenth birthday. I remember wanting something simple like staying home, ordering a pizza and watching cheesy, chick flicks, but they insisted that we go out and have fun. Duke was outside of the house that the party was going on in, leaning against his motorcycle, I never saw him around town before, but I thought he was gorgeous. He saw me and winked and that’s when I tripped, clumsy me. He helped me up immediately and after I thanked him we started talking, we talked the whole night and never went in. I found out that he was nineteen and just got out of high school, but he had no plans for college, he didn’t have a future planned out at all.  Everything else I found out about him made him seem like the most dangerous and mysterious guy in the world and that’s what I liked about him most. That was almost a year ago. We saw each other every day since that party and I knew that I loved him. My parents, however, didn’t approve.

I pushed my thoughts away as I reached my destination. I pulled up on the side of the road and left my car there, I should have brought something. I walked through the gates trying to remember where he was exactly. I only ever came here once and that was at the funeral.  I walked blindly through rows and rows of headstones until I saw it. A big headstone with the name Kenneth engraved on it, and underneath in smaller letters it said “Donald “Duke” Kenneth 1995 – 2014.” I sat on the grass in front of his headstone and let everything wash over me. I hadn’t come here for this reason, when I saw his name when I realized that he was under this ground that I was sitting on it would be real. I lost the love of my life and it was my fault, if I hadn’t been stupid, if I had listened to my parents that night when they told me to stay away he would still be alive. Sure, I might have lost him another way, but at least he would be alive – breathing and healthy. If I hadn’t agreed to ride his motorcycle, he would have had his helmet on and he wouldn’t have died when we crashed.

But, as I let the guilt wash over me I realized one thing, I wasn’t dead. I was alive because he made me where that helmet, because he knew I was upset and he could take me away from my home for a while. I’ve been alive this whole time and I’ve been wasting my life sulking over how he lost his. And that’s the guiltiest I ever felt in the past two months. Again, I let the guilt wash over me and knew there was nothing I could do. I would live everyday with his name in my mind, and I would do what he couldn’t. I would live for him, and maybe he could live through me. The thing about recovery is it happens at the most unexpected times, you could wake up one morning and realize that life isn’t so bad, that yes, you’ve been through hell, but you made it back.