I realized the date when I first checked my text messages this morning as I was getting ready. I would have to sit down and figure out the date he died, but his birthday is eternally etched in my brain. It was the first birthday I agonized over purchasing just the perfect gift to celebrate (a Jimmy Buffett cd). Cole was the first, the very very first, boy to ever pay attention to me "that way". He was a friend of a friend, and was introduced to me because we were both redheads and they thought we'd get along. I was immediately, instantly obsessed. Cole would drive up on weekends from Jackson to work with his uncle Joe's horses and get them ready for trail rides and rodeo competitions. He didn't know that at the time, I literally knew nothing at all about guys, or how to talk to them. I never got the chance to explain. I don't remember exactly why I broke things off with Cole, but I remember it was over some other girl and it probably was something made up by the girl who I considered my best friend at the time. Cole gave me the best present ever - a beautiful blonde lab pup named Atley. Cole went with me to my junior prom, when I had no idea I'd even have a date. We wrote cards and letters back and forth constantly when we couldn't see each other. I have no idea if my mother still has those, but today I think I'd like to maybe find them. This was LONG before cell phones and text messaging. I can only imagine the phone bills we'd have had.
I didn't see Cole or think much about Cole for a lot of years. After college, when I was working at MSU for the first time, I was also heading up a lot of things at my parents' church. I was there when a lady asked for prayer for Cole's dad, who was in the hospital with a serious infection and in pretty bad shape. I knew, in my gut, that I should call. But I was scared. I waited. Every time I was at the church, this lovely lady would give an update. I knew it would be simple to ask her for the room number and call the hospital to check on him. But I still waited. Months went by. Cole's dad got better and was able to return home. I still wanted to call, knew in the deepest part of my brain that it was something I desperately needed to do. But I waited.
We were on a trip with the youth group from the church when someone called for another of the counselors. John and Cole had worked together, and John's sister called to let him know about the accident. Cole had been driving home late one night from a friend's house and had lost control of his car. I'm sure they told me the details of the accident, but the only thought I remember running through my head was this little voice saying over and over "I told you to call him. Now you never can." It was a little while later, I was still in shock I think, that John came over and said something to me about it. Something like "I'm so sorry, I forgot about you two. I should have told you first before I announced it to the group." All of that is pretty blurry. I remember sleeping on a top bunk that night, the last night of our trip, and trying so hard to get that one thought out of my head. I remember parts of the drive home, wondering if we would get there in time for me to say goodbye. I remember the funeral the next day, my brother going with me because no way I would have been able to handle it on my own. I remember wondering if his mom would remember me, and realizing the second she saw me that she definitely did. I remember hugging her and weeping on her shoulder and apologizing over and over and over. I only remember hugging my brother during the funeral, not anything the pastor said. I remember a grave on top of a small rise in the middle of a cemetery. I wish I remembered the name of the place or even how to get there. I'd like to go talk to my friend.
Since then, I have been very conscious of listening to that inner voice when it tells me to do something. I missed out on the very last chance I'd ever have in this life to talk to the one person I would give anything to have five more minutes with. And on a rainy day in my office, I wonder what could have been.
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