It's now been 19 years since that horrible accident, which happened when I was 19 years old. The idea that I've lived as much time since as I lived before ... yea.
And in about two hours, I'll be burying Opie.
I'm having a very hard time getting off the couch, getting out of my pajamas.
Last week, my mother talked about the van accident from her perspective -- what it was like to get a phone call saying "This is Medina County Hospital, there's been an accident..." Here's a tip: if you ever have to make one of those calls, you might want to lead with "[your child] is OK, but there's been an accident..." Just saying.
Anyway, I should probably get my ass in gear. I have to go bury My Special Little Guy, and I'm seriously dreading the fact that no one will be going with me. I feel so guilty. I can't stand it.
