Kathy, I Wish You Were Here.

When I was 14 my world shifted on its axis.

Life up until that point had been more about survival than growth. Every day was a challenge, and although I sincerely doubt I could withstand the fear, pain and stress now that I did then, I'm a stronger and better person for having perservered.

I had help.

Kathy and I met, so the story was always told, when we were about 18 months old. Photographs told me that Kathy was a blue-eyed ringleted blonde princess. I was a dark haired tomboy, even as a baby. She was tiny, I was not. She was "good" (as all blue eyed blonde babies are meant to be), I was "difficult". Kathy loved dolls and stuffed bunnies. I liked dump trucks and real bunnies. We were, as my grandmother always said, "chalk and cheese."

From the time I understood the concept of love I adored her. I protected her, defended her, took the blame for her mistakes, and happily let her get us into one mess after another.

As we got older, Kathy became a witness to the horrors my brothers and I endured. She also became a victim, but that is another blog entry.....

By the age of six I knew that someday I would marry Kathy. I never waivered in my belief that we would grow up together, stay together, live together, die together. Kathy was not in agreement; she loved me, but figured she would marry a boy named Paul or one of the six or seven Josephs who adored her and tried to win her affection with candy and boquets featuring wilted wildflowers and dandelions.

The fact that I loved her and insisted that she would eventually come around to my way of thinking never fazed Kathy. She indulged me, and if she ever grew tired of my obsession, she didn't tell me.

We were inseperable. Even after my family moved to a community two hours away from Kathy's home, we maintained our relationship. I needed her like I needed oxygen, she kept the reality of my life just far enough removed so as to prevent it from crushing me.

When we were fourteen, my beautiful best friend was killed by a drunk driver.

Kathy and her sister Barbara were en route to my house for our monthly visit. A drunk ran a light, t-boned Barbie's car, crushing Kathy and severely injuring Barbara. Kathy died at the scene. She was decapitated by the force of the crash, her head was found about 15 feet from the car. Barbie suffered, among other injuries, a broken neck and devastating head trauma. She is a quadraplegic who uses breaths to maneuver her wheelchair and her eyes to communicate.

The bastard drunk who killed Kathy and all but killed Barbara walked away from the crash. Stumbled, really, his blood alcohol level was four times the legal limit.

My Kathy has been dead for almost twice as long as she was alive. Not a day goes by that I don't think about her and miss her terribly. Death does not cause love to cease. I often wonder how my life would have progressed had Kathy not been murdered by the useless waste of space who destroyed an entire family with his selfish, stupid, inexcuseable behaviour.

I miss you, Kathy. I miss you big.