Changing one thing about my life—what an amazing concept. Without hesitation, I am sure of what I would do if only I had the power. I'd go back in time to 2003...to the evening before Thanksgiving. Instead of hugging my twenty-two year old daughter and watching her head down the walkway toward her car, I'd do whatever it took to keep her at home with me. I'd reason with her, dissuade her from going out with friends who were home for the holiday. If that didn't work, I'd grab hold of her and refuse to let go, anything to keep her in the house, anything to change the horror that would follow less than five hours later.
What mother wouldn't step in to change the terrible sequence of events that were just waiting to unfold? That night was cold and dark with a wind that tore through the county with brutal ferocity. After dinner out with the family, Becky announced her plans to meet up with friends. Though I wished she'd stay at home and watch a movie with the family, I understood the draw to go out.
I soothe myself with the reminder that I didn't have a crystal ball. I had no way of knowing that this would be the last time to hold my daughter close, to whisper into her ear that I loved her. And yet, as I think back, I remember the disquietude I felt as she walked away from me, then climbed into her car and drove into the night. I remember the dread that descended in the early morning hours when I awakened at 1:45 and realized that Becky was not in her bed. I did what most mother's do, tried to reassure myself with thoughts about how she was grown now and knew how to take care of herself. When I woke later in the morning and discovered that she still wasn't home, I told myself that she had most likely spent the night with friends. It wouldn't be the first time.
When the doorbell rang a little after 9 a.m., I didn't think much of it, that is until I stood face-to-face with a somber looking man clad in a dress shirt and dark slacks. He asked if this was where Rebecca lived. Fear and dread pressed up from my gut into my throat. In that moment, I was sure of the horror that was to follow. I was told there had been a car accident and that Becky and two others had died. What mother wouldn't go back in time to alter such an terrible reality? Everything in my world changed that day. I felt old, and sad, and so alone, even though I was surrounded by people who loved me. There wasn't a soul in the world who could give me what I wanted—my daughter alive and well.
If I think about having the power to undo Becky's death, my first response is to say that only good would come of that. I'd have her back in this world with me. She would have turned thirty-three this past December. I imagine she'd be happily married and have a couple of children. Becky always wanted kids. She used to tell me that when she had children she was going to be more strict than I had been. She cautioned me that I'd have to do things her way; she'd be in charge since she would be the mother. Grandchildren—perhaps a boy and girl, both with chestnut hair, just like hers. They'd be athletic, and adventuresome, and most likely stubborn, too. It would be lovely, to have little ones close by. We'd go to the park, do messy art projects together, have wonderful overnights that would include takeout Chinese food and movies and “camp-outs” in the family room. I imagine Becky might have become a teacher; perhaps she'd incorporate dance or theater arts into the classroom. The students would love her, being caught up in her energy and compassion. Becky would live nearby. I'd share my writing with her, show her the paintings I was working on. Years before, we would have worked through our mother/daughter angst and come to a more peaceful existence.
If I'm honest about it, if I push myself to consider the other side of things, I have to acknowledge that had my daughter lived, I would be a very different woman now. I might be less sensitive to others pain. I wouldn't have the same capacity to empathize with those who have endured a terrible loss. I wouldn't have as strong a conviction about life after death and being able to communicate with those on the Other Side. I would probably be less firmly tied to the Jewish faith. My creative writing would have gone in other directions. Perhaps it would be lighter, less complex. So much of it now reflects the tremendous loss I've had to endure. My son would be different, too. Jake would still have become a rabbi, but I'm not sure he would be as mature and compassionate as he is today. He has embraced life and the lessons offered by Becky's death. He's quite remarkable. Had Becky survived, he'd be closer to her than he was ten years ago. The two of them would have discovered their rhythm as friends, not just as siblings. I know, I'm reverting back to the positives. It's so difficult to consider the other, the darker side of the question..
What I know for certain is that we are all touched in so many ways by the people who come into our lives. We're also touched by them when they leave us. I'm no exception. Having Becky in this world for almost twenty-three years has had a profound effect on me. Her death ten years ago has changed me. If I could go back in time and undo her death, I surely would. I'd embrace the positive impact of that and deal with the rest. It would all be worth it to hold her close and be able to whisper in her ear again, I love you..
Reanne Singer
What mother wouldn't step in to change the terrible sequence of events that were just waiting to unfold? That night was cold and dark with a wind that tore through the county with brutal ferocity. After dinner out with the family, Becky announced her plans to meet up with friends. Though I wished she'd stay at home and watch a movie with the family, I understood the draw to go out.
I soothe myself with the reminder that I didn't have a crystal ball. I had no way of knowing that this would be the last time to hold my daughter close, to whisper into her ear that I loved her. And yet, as I think back, I remember the disquietude I felt as she walked away from me, then climbed into her car and drove into the night. I remember the dread that descended in the early morning hours when I awakened at 1:45 and realized that Becky was not in her bed. I did what most mother's do, tried to reassure myself with thoughts about how she was grown now and knew how to take care of herself. When I woke later in the morning and discovered that she still wasn't home, I told myself that she had most likely spent the night with friends. It wouldn't be the first time.
When the doorbell rang a little after 9 a.m., I didn't think much of it, that is until I stood face-to-face with a somber looking man clad in a dress shirt and dark slacks. He asked if this was where Rebecca lived. Fear and dread pressed up from my gut into my throat. In that moment, I was sure of the horror that was to follow. I was told there had been a car accident and that Becky and two others had died. What mother wouldn't go back in time to alter such an terrible reality? Everything in my world changed that day. I felt old, and sad, and so alone, even though I was surrounded by people who loved me. There wasn't a soul in the world who could give me what I wanted—my daughter alive and well.
If I think about having the power to undo Becky's death, my first response is to say that only good would come of that. I'd have her back in this world with me. She would have turned thirty-three this past December. I imagine she'd be happily married and have a couple of children. Becky always wanted kids. She used to tell me that when she had children she was going to be more strict than I had been. She cautioned me that I'd have to do things her way; she'd be in charge since she would be the mother. Grandchildren—perhaps a boy and girl, both with chestnut hair, just like hers. They'd be athletic, and adventuresome, and most likely stubborn, too. It would be lovely, to have little ones close by. We'd go to the park, do messy art projects together, have wonderful overnights that would include takeout Chinese food and movies and “camp-outs” in the family room. I imagine Becky might have become a teacher; perhaps she'd incorporate dance or theater arts into the classroom. The students would love her, being caught up in her energy and compassion. Becky would live nearby. I'd share my writing with her, show her the paintings I was working on. Years before, we would have worked through our mother/daughter angst and come to a more peaceful existence.
If I'm honest about it, if I push myself to consider the other side of things, I have to acknowledge that had my daughter lived, I would be a very different woman now. I might be less sensitive to others pain. I wouldn't have the same capacity to empathize with those who have endured a terrible loss. I wouldn't have as strong a conviction about life after death and being able to communicate with those on the Other Side. I would probably be less firmly tied to the Jewish faith. My creative writing would have gone in other directions. Perhaps it would be lighter, less complex. So much of it now reflects the tremendous loss I've had to endure. My son would be different, too. Jake would still have become a rabbi, but I'm not sure he would be as mature and compassionate as he is today. He has embraced life and the lessons offered by Becky's death. He's quite remarkable. Had Becky survived, he'd be closer to her than he was ten years ago. The two of them would have discovered their rhythm as friends, not just as siblings. I know, I'm reverting back to the positives. It's so difficult to consider the other, the darker side of the question..
What I know for certain is that we are all touched in so many ways by the people who come into our lives. We're also touched by them when they leave us. I'm no exception. Having Becky in this world for almost twenty-three years has had a profound effect on me. Her death ten years ago has changed me. If I could go back in time and undo her death, I surely would. I'd embrace the positive impact of that and deal with the rest. It would all be worth it to hold her close and be able to whisper in her ear again, I love you..
Reanne Singer