Who knew that what other people have to say can influence what you want to express to the world. That’s how I felt after hearing a particular column in today’s class. I had a column all ready to submit but wasn’t satisfied with the feeling and emotion I had put forth for it. After hearing that particular column I really started to think about how I value my life and how I’ve been spending my time here on earth. I left class thinking about the wonderful people I do have in my life, the people I have lost, and also the people that got a second chance at living but have dealt with those close calls along the way.
It was a great day. My morning class had been cancelled and I was finally able to sleep in and enjoy my warm comfy, queen-size bed. My phone, sitting on my night stand, began to ring and ring and ring. With each ring I found myself waking up a little more when I finally grabbed that little piece of technology to see who it was that so urgently needed to speak with me. When I glanced at the screen and read the name “Mom” I immediately was frustrated. Especially as I glanced at my alarm clock to read “8:23”. I pressed ignore and complained to myself that my mom had to call me early in the morning just to see how my day was going when in reality it hadn’t even started yet. I rolled back over and fell back asleep. Several minutes later I began to get text message after text message. After ten minutes of being sick and tired of that same ring tone chiming in with every text I finally grabbed my phone and went to my inbox. “RIP Wade Loberg…You’ll never be forgotten…1989-2008”. That text message was my wakeup call on September 4, 2008. Thinking it was a joke, I dialed my voicemail. My mother was that first message. Her words were slurred as she tried to explain details in between each sob and each scream. With tears streaming down my face in disbelief I hit the floor.
Wade was nineteen. He was newly nineteen years old and his life was done being lived. He was a victim of drunk driving and not by someone else’s mistakes but by his own. He had been at a party north of our home town and lost control on a blacktop curve entering the city limits. He was ejected from the vehicle and then crushed by the heavy duty pick-up truck as it rolled over him. His fox racing hat lay beside him and his glasses tossed somewhere in the field never to be found. Wade wasn’t just someone from my hometown. He was my good friend’s little brother, my neighbor since we were little, a hide-and-seek companion for many years before, and a driver I trusted many times in many different situations.
Our families have been best friends and neighbors for as long as I can remember. Vacations, family gatherings, block parties, and life events had been shared for so many years and I couldn’t imagine losing a part of that tradition. A month before this tragedy, I had driven Wade home after a concert in a neighboring town. It was our last heart to heart, the last Marlboro red he convinced me to share with him, and the last time I saw him before that day I held a Kleenex in my hand looked down and prayed beside his casket.
I think it’s crazy how events like this occur and after the heart ache and tragedy people recover and people continue with their lives but it’s needed to be reminded not to take life for granted. Wade was a week away from starting his first semester at college. I go to class every single day and get in my routine and don’t even consider the fact that he never got to experience those things. Take a look around, realize you’re lucky for what you’ve experienced and accomplished, and live every day like it may be your last.