My life has never been the same since the horrible crash that took the lives of my husband Mark and my two children, my sweet daughter Emily and my awkwardly lovely son Josh, both in their teens.
The house that was once filled with love and laughter became and empty place without soul. My days have been filled with going from one room to another, hoping I will feel my loved ones’ presence, but that never happens.
After that night, when that drunk driver claimed their lives, I don’t live any more, I just exist, barely.
Mark and I met back in college, of all places, in a cooking class that went wrong. He tried to make scrambled eggs and somehow triggered the fire alarm, filling the room with smoke and chaos. Everyone panicked except me. I laughed so hard I nearly fell over. And right there, in the middle of the commotion, something clicked between us. Maybe it was the humor, maybe the humility, but from that moment on, we were inseparable.
Our life together resembled a fairytale. We built a small house and welcomed our two children. Honestly, life felt good, because among all the tiny imperfection, our family was perfect.
Our place smelled like burnt toast, crayons, and coffee — the scent of a family living fully.
I can still see it all: Mark teaching Josh how to change a tire, Emily giggling as he messed up her hair, the clatter of dishes and the hum of the fridge in the background. Those sounds used to be my soundtrack, and all of a sudden, they became non-existent.
On the night of the accident, Mark went out to grab pizza and the kids begged him to take them with him. Hesitantly, he agreed, not knowing that decision would take them to death. I remember saying “Drive safe.” He smiled, kissed my forehead, and said, “Always.” It was the last thing he ever said to me.
Just minutes later, I could hear the sirens and I had no idea they were racing toward my family. When the knock came at 9:47 p.m., I opened the door expecting anything but two soaked officers. “There’s been an accident,” one said. The rest was noise. I only heard that a drunk driver took the wrong lane and had no time to react. Before the silence came, I screamed and fell on my knees.
Ever since, I never went out and barely spoke to anyone, until one day, a flyer grabbed my attention.
It read, “Halloween Costumes Drive — Help Our Kids Celebrate!”
Something inside me stirred, and that same night, I went into the attic and opened the boxes I hadn’t touched in months. Inside were the costumes I’d made for Emily and Josh. Among the rest, there were my daughter’s bumblebee wings, and Josh’s firefighter suit.
I decided to bring them to the shelter, hoping they would make some children happy.
But I didn’t only bring those two costumes. I posted online, asking for donations and went door to door around the neighborhood. And just before Halloween, my car was filled with a bunch of kids’ costumes.
I donated the costumes, and then I saw this little girl wearing Emily’s bumblebee costume. As I stared at her, she approached closer and gave me a hug, thanking me for the costume and telling me that she had always wanted to be a bumblebee. And then, out of nowhere, she said, “Maybe you could be my mom?”
Her words touched me deeper than I could ever think. That fragile little girl had no one, and so did I.
And then it hit me. Maybe that flyer was a signal to come to the shelter and meet this sweet little lady. Maybe it was meant for me to find her and give her a forever home.
It didn’t take long before I filled in the adoption papers. The process wasn’t a straightforward one, but eventually, she became my daughter.
Today, she’s eight years old. She’s lively and vibrant and my house isn’t silent any longer. I still think of my husband and my children every day, but I feel more alive knowing I have someone I should be strong for.
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Bored Daddy
Love and Peace
