Last night, a former student at my high school died in a car accident. At midnight, he rolled his car and was flung from the vehicle.
I didn't realize who it was at first; his name rang a bell, but I did not know how I knew him. When I got home and told my mom, she was shocked. This boy was the older brother of one of my classmates since elementry school, and his mother cut mine and my mother's hair a few short weeks ago. My mom and his had talked to each other about their kids, and the hairdresser told us how her son had been unhappy at his job. She told him he should do something he enjoys, and suggested hairdressing, but of course he was reluctant due to the stigma of male hairdressers. She told us how he wouldn't bring lunches to work, because he didn't want to make himself a sandwich, so she went and bought a box of pizza pops just for him, so he would have something to eat. He was a band student, and had at one point considered going into the music buisness.
This boy is now dead. I barely knew who he was, and I know he knew even less about me. But he was only 19 years old. He was still trying to figure out how he wanted to face the world.
He is not the only person to die this week.
A former teacher at my school, and one of my sister's favourites, died on Tuesday after battle with cancer for seven years. He was 63.
On Wednesday, my sister's friend's friend died when he collided on the highway with a parked truck. He was 24.
I also wish to take this moment to remember a classmate who died last year, on December 9th. He was in grade 11. His life too was taken in a car accident.
