Crushed.

heart•broken: crushed with sorrow or grief

heart•ache: emotional pain or distress; sorrow; grief; anguish

On Saturday morning, I awoke full of excitement. Friends were on their way over, the carpet had been ripped up, the saws stood at the ready. We were finally getting around to replacing the floors downstairs! This project had been a long time comin' and the timing was perfect. Ethan was with my parents for the weekend and the beautiful fall weather made such a huge project much more bearable.

Minutes after our friends arrived, as I swept the dust off the concrete slab, my phone rang. Thinking it was someone calling to tell us they were on their way over, I took my time getting to the phone. When I saw the name of a high school friend pop up on the caller ID I thought, "that's odd", and answered. Laughing, I explained all the loud noises in the background and went outside where I could hear her a little better.

"Joye, have you talked to anyone this morning?" she asked, nervously. I hadn't, and I never like when I'm asked that question. It usually means really bad news is to follow.

I was right.

I screamed and collapsed on the grass when she told me that one of my best friends had been killed in a car accident early that morning. I sobbed and yelled for Jeramie, leaving her on the phone to hear all those raw emotions come spilling out. I apologized. "Honey," she said, "I knew you would want to know, and I knew you would react this way. It's OK." I cried harder.

I eventually hung up with her and gasped for breaths while Jeramie held me tight, not knowing what was happening. When I finally gained enough composure to speak, I looked up at him and squeaked out, "Michael's dead."


Michael was the guy that everyone loved. He was a laid-back, all around good guy. He seemed to know everyone, and everyone knew him. He came from a good family and respected those around him. We went to school together for as long as I can remember, but became really good friends our freshman year of high school. My parents adored him, and my sister looked to him as an older brother.

Our friendship grew, and we attended prom together our senior year of high school. Looking back on that night, I'm sure that he would've liked to have been with his typical group of friends, partying the night away. Instead, he spent the evening making me feel like the prettiest girl in the ballroom. I'll never forget that night.

I went away to college after graduation and Michael and I remained great friends. I had just gone through a break-up with another guy when Michael asked me out on our first date. What followed was a series of dates, a first kiss, and him spending part of every holiday at my parents' house with my family. We never established ourselves as a couple, but there was no denying that we each held a special place in each others' hearts.

Fast-forward to January 2005 -- Michael and I had grown apart and I met Jeramie one beautiful winter day. Not long after Jeramie and I began dating, Michael called, asking to go out again. Of course, I turned him down ... not exactly the answer Michael was expecting. It was not an easy conversation to have, and that was the last time I heard from him.

For five and a half years, I struggled with what Michael thought of me. It didn't consume my thoughts, but there were times I couldn't not think about it. Every time I went back home, I scanned the streets for his truck, wondering if that would be the day that we reconciled our feelings. I missed his friendship, but I was in the midst of experiencing a love greater than anything I had ever known. Jeramie understood; everyone has "that person" in their past.

At one point, I wrote Michael a letter. I told him that I was sorry and that I missed him. I told him I was happily married, and hoped the same for him. I included every piece of contact information for me that I could think of. Months went by as I waited for a response. Nothing.

Then, just this past spring, the time came to plan our 10-year high school reunion (which never happened, by the way). It was my job to make contact with different groups of people to let them know about the reunion. Michael fell into one of those groups, but I had no idea where to start. I ended up sending his sister a Facebook message, asking her for his contact information. When she responded with a phone number, my heart pounded at the thought of talking to him again. I knew it wouldn't just be a simple conversation about a party.

I was right.

We talked for hours that night. We cried. I told him about Ethan, and he shared some details of his life with me. Although I was nervous at first, talking to him became just as easy as it had always been. We kept in touch in the following weeks and decided to have breakfast together one morning while I was in town.

(PS - Jeramie is aware of every minute of our conversations, and encouraged me to meet with Michael in person. I have an excellent, graceful, compassionate husband. Just sayin'.)

We had such great conversation that morning. He met Ethan and was interested in everything about him. If only I had taken that picture of Michael holding him... He expressed interest in meeting Jeramie. He caught me up on day-to-day life, and let me in on some personal parts of his life as well; I heard parts of his soul that I hadn't had access to in a long time. He asked about my family, and we talked about typical small-town drama. It was perfect.

We managed to stay in touch through the month of July and were supposed to meet up during my sister's last weekend in Wilmington. He was going to meet Jeramie and have a chance to say bye to Jessi. For reasons I will never know, he didn't show up. He never responded to my text asking where he was, and I never heard from him again.

But, this time, I never will.

My heart has literally ached ever since I found out about Michael's death. I looked up "broken heart syndrome" and I'm pretty sure I'm self-diagnosing myself. I've walked around with red, puffy eyes since Saturday morning, and I burst into tears at random times. I hate, hate, hate that I didn't get to see him one last time, but I'm extremely thankful for that perfect morning we spent sharing our lives over breakfast. I am thankful for reconciliation, for forgiveness, for love, for peace.

I am in deep prayer for Michael's parents and his younger sister. He, along with two others, died in that tragic car accident, affecting more people than I can even fathom. I am praying for those families as well, that they will be afforded the opportunity to experience that same level of reconciliation, forgiveness, love, and peace.

I will be going home tomorrow for Michael's services. In a tragic, sick way, it looks as though we'll have our class reunion after all. I will see people I haven't seen in years, and I will say my final good-bye to Michael.

And then, when his body is placed in the ground on Wednesday morning, I will be burying a little piece of my heart with him.