Canada Day was never the same

It was after 8pm. The phone rang. From the other room I could hear him pick up, say “hello,” and then a long silence.

I paused the movie I was watching and went into the bedroom. He was sitting on the bed with his head in his hands, the phone still at his ear, saying “what? what do you mean?”

Mo was dead.

She had died in a head-on collision the day before, July 1, 2010. The death was instantaneous – the driver's seat of the car she was in with 3 others flew back upon impact and crushed her core.

She had been heading back from miltary training, was on her way to meet her long-time partner at the hotel. He was waiting – she never showed up.

It was a terrible night. There was alcohol, there were tears, there was shock and sadness and grief and regret and guilt. We had all lost touch to some degree. Although we still spoke sporadically the relationships had become diluted with time and distance.

The next few days were mostly just sad. Life continued on, as it does, but with a cloud of grief. An informal get together of Mo's friends, all of us sitting around a table, in shock, telling stories of times spent with her.

Then the funeral. All of us together for this incredibly sad day. I remember wishing that a happy event could have been the catalyst to bring us all together again. Not the death of a friend, this wasn't supposed to happen so soon. Despite my grief, the moment when I saw her partner unable to stand, so consumed with grief, my heart shattered for him.

Mo's death became a reminder that life is fleeting and friendships are important. It was a reminder that every once in awhile, despite time and distance, it's important to tell those you care about that you love them. That even if you have grown apart you still think about them, will be there for them.

– image: trekearth.com