18 September 2007
♥ a strange day.
Most people go their whole lives without ever knowing anyone who's murdered. It's kind of a weird concept, isn't it, to think about ending someone's life? To think that you could possibly have that kind of power to affect that many people is kind of mind-boggling.
Four years ago today, I woke up to the strangest day of my life. The sunrise was bright red, and I swear I felt like I knew something awful was going to happen.
I remember my eighth grade self looking out the window while I took a math test during the last period of the day, thinking how I missed summer and how the weather was really perfect. It was warm for September, and there was just a little breeze. The leaves turned early that year.
I got home that day and went upstairs, and I must have fallen asleep because my mother woke me up a couple of hours later, and she was crying. (This was before my mother was crazy.)
"Becky's dead," she kept saying, "Somebody killed Becky."
The nightmare kept going. Our friendly, outgoing, ever-positive neighbor was lying in the middle of a Rocky Flats dump site. She was gone.
Her ex-boyfriend had killed her because she didn't want to see him anymore (the secret family may have had something to do with it), and in a split second he took away a daughter, mother, sister, friend, aunt, and neighbor. Becky's life was looking up again, and it ended there, on that blood-red morning, in the foothills where she used to walk her dogs.
Of course he's in prison now, serving 32 years that he won't see the end of because he's got cancer. I guess sometimes what goes around comes around, because he will die in prison without a family or a friend in the world.
Sure, my mother is crazy, but what if someone had taken her away from me, from us, when I was eleven? What if I'd had to grow up without any mother at all? It wasn't just Becky's life that ended that morning: Morgan had to start over too.
Time heals all wounds, but it's been four years and this one still hasn't gone anywhere. Someone else lives in that house now, someone else's dogs wake up the whole neighborhood, someone else takes care of the neighbor's houses when they're gone. We're all doing what we can to pick up the slack, but the truth of the matter is, the place just isn't the same without her. I think my mother thought she and Becky would watch Morgan and me grow up together. I think she thought they'd still be walking the dogs when they were sixty. But at 41, Becky's dog-walking days were over.
It's not right, and it's not fair, and there's nothing we can do about it. But on the other hand, I'm glad we knew Becky. I'm glad Becky told me I looked good in pink because she knew I hated it. I'm glad she teased my mother about her obsession with our dumb dogs. I'm glad she made fun of her mother for being a republican. I'm glad she loved Meeker High football, and most of all, I'm glad she just rolled her eyes and laughed when we teased her back.
Wherever you are, Becky Darden, we're not going to forget you, not now or ever.
Four years ago today, I woke up to the strangest day of my life. The sunrise was bright red, and I swear I felt like I knew something awful was going to happen.
I remember my eighth grade self looking out the window while I took a math test during the last period of the day, thinking how I missed summer and how the weather was really perfect. It was warm for September, and there was just a little breeze. The leaves turned early that year.
I got home that day and went upstairs, and I must have fallen asleep because my mother woke me up a couple of hours later, and she was crying. (This was before my mother was crazy.)
"Becky's dead," she kept saying, "Somebody killed Becky."
The nightmare kept going. Our friendly, outgoing, ever-positive neighbor was lying in the middle of a Rocky Flats dump site. She was gone.
Her ex-boyfriend had killed her because she didn't want to see him anymore (the secret family may have had something to do with it), and in a split second he took away a daughter, mother, sister, friend, aunt, and neighbor. Becky's life was looking up again, and it ended there, on that blood-red morning, in the foothills where she used to walk her dogs.
Of course he's in prison now, serving 32 years that he won't see the end of because he's got cancer. I guess sometimes what goes around comes around, because he will die in prison without a family or a friend in the world.
Sure, my mother is crazy, but what if someone had taken her away from me, from us, when I was eleven? What if I'd had to grow up without any mother at all? It wasn't just Becky's life that ended that morning: Morgan had to start over too.
Time heals all wounds, but it's been four years and this one still hasn't gone anywhere. Someone else lives in that house now, someone else's dogs wake up the whole neighborhood, someone else takes care of the neighbor's houses when they're gone. We're all doing what we can to pick up the slack, but the truth of the matter is, the place just isn't the same without her. I think my mother thought she and Becky would watch Morgan and me grow up together. I think she thought they'd still be walking the dogs when they were sixty. But at 41, Becky's dog-walking days were over.
It's not right, and it's not fair, and there's nothing we can do about it. But on the other hand, I'm glad we knew Becky. I'm glad Becky told me I looked good in pink because she knew I hated it. I'm glad she teased my mother about her obsession with our dumb dogs. I'm glad she made fun of her mother for being a republican. I'm glad she loved Meeker High football, and most of all, I'm glad she just rolled her eyes and laughed when we teased her back.
Wherever you are, Becky Darden, we're not going to forget you, not now or ever.
9/18/2007
