Us, laughing, as always. That's Sonja on the right.
Sleepover! Sonja's on the left.
As I talked about in yesterday’s Gratitude Sunday post, today is the 7-year anniversary that my soul sister, Sonja, dropped her body. We were both barely 19 at the time. The circumstances of her death were very sad & maddening. I hope you don’t mind me sharing this story on my blog. The take-home message is one we’ve all heard so many times before: if you’ve been drinking, please please don’t drive.
Sonja was driving home on the evening of July 18th, and stopped at a red light. Behind her, speeding up at 70mph in his red truck, was a 52-year-old man who had 8 previous DUIs. He was too drunk at the time to notice the red light, and so didn’t hit the breaks and smashed into her car, crumpling it completely. She died 8 hours later in Intensive Care. I think the reason she didn’t die at the scene was that she wanted her parents to be able to see her and be with her one last time at the hospital, and to be the ones to decide to remove her from life support. She was their only child.
Sonja and I met in preschool, when we were 3 years old. We made each other’s childhoods! We really were joined at the hip. We got each other through life. Two sensitive souls, just so glad to have each other to lean on. When she was killed, I felt as though half of me had been ripped off. The emotional pain was searing, and it went on and on and on — a nuclear explosion of emotion. Turns out, the only way out of grief is through it. I mustered an inner strength I didn’t know I had, and moved through it without drugs or alcohol to numb it, without knowing how to get through it, and most of all, without Sonja to talk it through with.
A month after her death, our kitty was killed by a car, and a year later our dog, Snow, died. In private, I used to scream in anger and mostly fear, “WHO ELSE??? Who else is going to get taken???”.
But nobody else got taken. And now, 7 years later, I feel the best that I’ve felt yet. That is something to celebrate! I feel more of a peace; the pain is much less, and is more deadened. I feel like I can remember those awful days with some detachment…without fear of sliding uncontrollably down the slippery slope lest I remember too deeply. I still miss Sonja so much. Terribly, actually — especially when I see two girls, chattering and laughing and having a grand time. But maybe I’m finally resigning myself to the fact that she’s never, ever coming back…and getting used to that. It feels good to be at this point, because when I was in the depths of darkness and grief, I truly didn’t think it would ever end. But I got through it. I wasn’t sure I would — or really wanted to — but I did, and that’s something that makes me proud.
Sonja, Snow, & me
Below is something I wrote last year, in an email to my Hubby. It was meant to be a quick email, but the story just sort of came pouring out. It needed to be told.
“6 years ago today, which was also a Saturday, was my last day with Sonja. We had the best time! She decided to bring her bike over, and we rode bikes all around, going to the wetlands and walked around, admiring the city, then went to Peaberry’s and sat and had iced chai and lemon bread. We talked and talked and talked…then rode home and she and mom and I (dad was out of town) made these really awesome Greek Melt sandwiches with spinach and cherry tomatoes from the garden. We ate at the table and watched the Tour de France, and Lance Armstrong won the stage! We were cheering and hollering. 🙂 Sonja had to go to work the next day, so we hugged and said “Bye, I love you!” like always, and I stood in the front yard waving the “I love you” hand sign until her car was out of sight. It was the last time I would ever see her.
The next day, Sunday, I baked a chocolate cake in my solar oven because it was Raisin’s birthday. I had trouble getting to sleep that night, and at 1am the phone rang. Mom answered; it was Sonja’s dad saying that she had been in a car crash — hit by a drunk driver, and was in a coma in intensive care. After hearing that, I was wide awake, heart pounding, frozen into a fetal position in my bed. I couldn’t move, or sleep. What a long, awful night. Mom and I didn’t go to the hospital; I don’t know why, we didn’t even talk about it. We just didn’t go. Later I would agonize over that decision, but came to realize that’s the way it was meant to be.
At sunrise, I got up and packed my backpack full of things I thought her parents would want, like healthy snacks and face wash, and was about to get on my bike and ride down to the hospital, but called their cell phone first. They didn’t answer, so I called their house. A family friend answered but was too upset to talk so she gave the phone to her husband. I said “How’s Sonja????” but he could hardly get any words out and tearfully said “Sonja passed away this morning.” I will never, ever forget those words. Remembering it now, I still get shaky. It was such a shock — all I could say was “No, no, no, no, no” and I felt like I was going to vomit. I went inside and just said to my mom “She passed away.” It was utter disbelief and I felt out of my body. Mom started crying, but I couldn’t cry for days. It just wouldn’t come. I was in such deep shock. Sonja and I were soul sisters, inseparable best friends for 16 years, since age 3. I didn’t have any other friends because she was the only one I needed.
I didn’t know what else to do, so I unpacked the snacks and face wash and took Snow for a walk. Then went over to Dan and Joyce’s across the alley because I nannied their 6-month-old daughter that summer. Mom went to Whole Foods and took food over to Van and Carolyn, then went to work.
Neither of us knew how to deal with our grief and so instead of hugging and crying, we got distant and snippy. It was incredibly isolating. Sonja was the only one I could really open up to, and now she was dead. A couple days later I went over and told Darlene the news, and mom could hear her scream from across the street. 🙁
The whole thing…it was so awful…I was sick to my stomach and couldn’t eat for a long time.
The news finally hit me an entire year later, when I was living in New Zealand for a while. I heard it all in my head again, and could finally react, and I screamed and screamed in anguish for 45 minutes.
It was such a long road of grief. It took about 2 years until I started feeling kind-of okay again. It was a living hell, and so many times I just wanted to die and make it all stop. But somehow I came out whole — and a better person because of it. In some ways, her death was such a gift. I could see the gift, but god it was so hard to move through all the shit that her death brought up. I dreaded going to sleep at night because of the hellish nightmares, and woke up to that choking, searing grief that would not let up. As much as I intellectually knew that one can create their own reality, and take control of their feelings….it was more than I could muster. The feelings would come in tsunamis and all I could do was feel them completely through to the end. I was mad at myself that I couldn’t control them. Feeling them…all their facets and complexity and the way they interwove and connected to the other feelings and emotions that were there… that was the only way I could get through it.
She and I used to talk endlessly about our future husbands, kids, and the trips we were going to take together. So many dreams for the future died along with her.
My parents did not react well to my grief and it hurt them to see me in such overwhelming pain, so I tried not to show it. I recall a few times where I was unable to get up from my bedroom floor, emotionally bleeding to death, but there was nothing anybody could do. And they were hurting too, because Sonja had been like a daughter to them. Life at that time was extraordinarily dark.
And although the feelings and the sadness will always be in me, so are the happy memories of everything that we did together. We were so close… we had such fun together! Gosh.
And it all seems so long ago. I can’t tell you how thankful I am that it’s in the past now.”
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Me (l) & Sonja (r). Guess who became the dancer!
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Dressing up in stupid clothes, frizzing our hair, and standing barefoot in the snow. What...is that weird?
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Me, Sonja, & Snow
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Anyway, thanks for listening. I loved going back through old pictures for this post; I think I had a smile on my face the entire time! It felt so good to remember all the fun we had. In fact I think I’ll begin a new tradition, where every July 18th, I’ll buy myself a fun treat to eat, and get out the old pictures and relive those happy times together!
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Oh Lindsey, I never knew her but am crying at the computer looking at this. What a beautiful, intense story, so full of the best and most challenging of Life itself. I needed to hear this story today, thank you. Last month I was diagnosed with breast cancer and last week underwent a bilateral mastectomy. Recovery is a journey that can only be taken step by step, moment by moment, with no map. I hear you.
Love and blessings to you.xxx
Oh Sasha….holy cow, I will email you!!!!!! Sending so much love your way.
Your words say it — the best and most challenging of life itself. Life is so full…so thick…with the happiest and saddest of feelings. Quite a ride sometimes.
Having no map through healing was very unsettling. I didn’t know whether what I was doing was ultimately going to help or hurt, but I felt my way through it intuitively, which I suppose is the best way to do it for each person, because I did get through it, and managed to do so much healing. It’s not all complete, and may never be….but the pain’s not so sharp, and more manageable, and I can address it when I prefer, rather than having it grip me. What a long haul that was, though. Such a long, long process.
Anyway, thanks for commenting — so nice to hear from you.
Much love,
Lindsey
Thanks so much, Trish 🙂
My eyes are full of tears and my throat has a lump in it, reading this hurts so much. It’s hard to believe you could make it through those years of grief and get to a point where you can now talk about it and share it. Your strength boggles my mind. Friendships like that are rare and you were blessed to have such a one. I’m sorry that you had to experience that unimaginable pain, and grateful it softens with each passing year. Much Love to you.
Thank you for your really really nice comment Snowpeas!!! That warmed my heart; you’re so right — our friendship was a rare gem, and I was lucky enough to experience it for 16 years.
Much love back to you!
Dear Lindsey,
Your story touches me deeply, again. I’m equally impressed by how you trust your intuition about grieving, healing, and remembering. Much love from Kate, too
PS, I LOVE your picture memories
Thanks so much Kate, and much love back to you, too!
Thank you for sharing your story – what a terrible loss and incredible pain to bare. What courage you have to celebrate your love for your friend and honor your friendship. Blessings to you 🙂
Wow, thank you Aja… those are beautiful words. I guess the depth of pain reflects the depth of our incredible friendship!
Blessings to you too!!
Hi Lindsey.
Thank you so much for writing this and sharing your experience. For reasons I can’t explain, I feel I can relate to your story so much. I felt sobs deep in my body while reading it, but they never came out. It makes me want to cry with you and hug each other. 🙂 I am so very proud of you. You are a strong soul and that was a hard soul lesson you chose to grow.
Sonja is part of your soul family. Your souls will ALWAYS be connected. Her presence is with you always. I feel the two of you have been connected for many lifetimes and will have many more to enjoy together.
Love you so much,
Taryn
Taryn,
There’s so much I could say, but instead I’ll just say…thank you…for this comment. 🙂 Thank you for your support…that means so much. I know you can understand the deep pain.
So much love,
Lindsey
I was looking at your oven when I seen this post.I do not know you, but you have touched me greatly. Know that Sonja is with you everyday.Sonja’s energy will always be with you. The reason you called the phone first, was because Sonja let you know she was at peace. You did not have to go to the hospital. Sonja was there with you she always will be. The next journey she will be with you again. Blessings child…..
Sue,
What kind words these are; they touched me. Thank you for reading the story and leaving this sweet comment.
With blessings,
Lindsey
Hi Lindsey… very deep story…I wish I could bring her back for you but…she still lives in your heart today (forever)..
At least you had all this wonderful time together and such beautiful memories, even though the years were reduced they were totally awesome when you guys were together…it sounds like some real quality time and death could never take the love away in your heart, if anything maybe it made it even stronger, immortal… I hope one day you will see her again!
Daniela,
Thank you for these words… how very kind of you.
Blessings,
Lindsey
I do not know you I did not know your friend. Reading this beautiful, intimate, love story (and that is what it is ) made me cry and smile. What a lucky girl to have had a friend a soul mate such as Sonja. People can spend a life time searching, seeking, that kind of friendship that kind of love. She will forever be in your heart and therefore she will continue on. Through your beautiful story you have introduced Sonja to us; your readers. Hugs to you, hugs to her family, and know that this has touched so many hearts.
Hi Laurel,
What a heartfelt comment; thank you. And a good reminder that many folks spend a lifetime searching for this soul-sister-love that was just dropped into my lap. It was an incredible gift, that I don’t take for granted.
Hugs to you Laurel.
Thanks for sharing this. Thanks so much. Jojo
I’m shurely touched the pain you have been through looseing such a very dear and close friend and friendship bond which is a unique treasure in itself, which reminds me of my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.as a christian hymn writer wrote: I’ve found a Friend, oh such a Friend,He
loved me ere I knew Him, He drew me with the cords of love. and thus He
bound me to Him. naught that I have, mine own I’ll call I’ll hold it for the Giver for I am His and He is mine, forever and forever.
Thank you Bob, for the beautiful hymn and for your comment. Indeed it is such searing pain to lose a dear friend. Such a special friend she was, the bond was rare and special, and over time it seems the ache grows deeper. Hopefully we will be reunited on the other side, in due time.
I’m into retirement, have lost close friends (incl parents and inlaws) a brother, and older friends who moved away and scattered. Now, I have several friends who are incapacitated for various problems (physical and mental) and cannot go anywhere with me anymore, can no longer communicate with clarity. Trying to carry on a discussion is trying and unproductive. It is hard to make new friends unless it’s in a group like a church. I spend lots of time reading and so does hubby.
Laura, yes. The older we are the more our peers drop away from us. It gets lonely. I’m not an elder but I have seen it happen for the elders around me. Sometimes I feel it even though I have not lived many decades. I have a small circle which became a lot smaller when Sonja died, and smaller still after I moved away to another city recently. I hold dearly to the ones I do have around me 🙂
Agreed too, that it is hard to make new friends. It takes much energy to make a new friend, and one does not necessarily have the desire to make many new friends. It helps if the person has a whole lot in common with us, but even still it’s an effort and the new friend doesn’t have the depth of history that old friends have. We find other ways of occupying our time and that is fine. Animals companions become especially important, if one is an animal lover. Reading, turning inward, quiet hobbies, remembering past happy times, all of this is okay and appropriate. I myself do a lot of this right now.
Blessings to you Laura, thank you for commenting.