"The One Who Got Away" by Imani S

I don’t remember everything, but the details I do remember—I wish I hadn’t.

            One Saturday morning in the middle of October during my sophomore year of high school, around ten to be precise, I awoke to a text about a friend who I considered family:

“Jordan got into an accident.”

Stunned, I frantically began replying with questions, “Where is he? How did this happen? Is he okay?”

Her reply: “He’s in a coma at the hospital.”

Now I’ve only experienced one other death five years prior, but being so young, I was oblivious to the long-term effects this kind of event would have on my life. Upon hearing the news about Jordan, I texted two of our mutual friends because at the time, I didn’t know how to reply; I felt helpless. What could I have said to make her feel better? Suggesting my friends and I visit Jordan in the hospital the next day, I was the last one to arrive. Hospitals have always given me weird vibes and I try to avoid them as much as possible, but I knew this was something I had to do. When I got there, the halls were filled with watery eyes and swollen faces of family and friends. There were quick embraces and small talk before I was supposed to go in to see Jordan. Wanting one of my friends to go with me, but not wanting them to experience the trauma again, I sufficed to going with my mom. His room was only a few doors down from the major sliding doors which separated patients from the public, but I was still anxious. As we made our way down the hall, I quietly gave myself a pep talk which insisted on me not crying when I got there. I stepped into the room and saw Jordan, his family was trying to seem somewhat okay and greeted me with slight smiles and warm hugs. I rubbed Jordan’s legs because it was the only part of his body that was exposed, I wanted to feel his warmth; he was completely covered in bandages from head to toe. As I looked at his swollen face, I couldn’t believe this was his reality. I didn’t cry, I had to be strong for his family. He reacted to my touch by moving his limbs and caused his machine to start beeping due to his brain activity and a team of nurses rushed in to try to calm him. When they left, Jordan’s family asked if I wanted to pray for him. Being religious at the time, I kindly accepted. “Dear God,” I didn’t make it past these two words before I broke down, squeezing the hands that were interlocked with mine. My mom finished the prayer and when she was done, had to nearly carry me out because I was such a mess. I couldn’t control the flow of tears, let alone my body. Once we were out the major sliding doors, she took me to a corner of the room I buried my face in her arms, so as to not make my friends cry. It didn’t work and before I knew it, my friends had joined me in a large embrace and we stayed there for a while. After a few minutes, we wiped our tears and just sat with each other, not talking, but appreciating each other's presence. During the week I made frequent visits and my hope grew for a positive outcome when I learned Jordan was improving, he could do this. The following Friday I visited with four of my friends and was surprised at the atmosphere of the waiting room, everyone was smiling and laughing. They were all relying on faith that he would pull through—I was too. I left in a better mood than usual and even enjoyed the rest of my night. Sunday came around and so did the text that made my heart drop:

 “He’s gone.”

“No. No. No.”

I didn’t want to believe the words that were right in front of my face. No. It’s not possible, he was getting better, he was supposed to make it.

            Jordan: the guy who could play any instrument he laid his hands upon, who had a great sense of humor, whose voice could put you to sleep, who ALWAYS put others before himself.

            Above all else, this tragic event made me appreciate the people in my life even more. The compassion and love that Jordan shared with me made me want to share it with others as well. I learned that things aren’t always going to go the way I want them to, and I’m still not sure why this had to happen, but I have to trust that in due time, everything will make sense.