I wrote this yesterday night, but the internet died:

Today was... a crazy day, filled with mixed emotions.

It started at 4am, at Grammie and Grampie's house, by the loud, nerve wracking beep of my dad's alarm clock. I peeled myself out of bed, threw some clothes on,  brushed my teeth, and got out the door with my luggage. Dad and I drove for a half an hour to the Moncton airport on the pitch black, damp highway, definitely not the safest I've ever felt in my life. The airport, the flight, and the Toronto airport presented no problems. We picked up Stephen, one of Ben's friends who wanted to go to the funeral, but had no way of getting  from Toronto to Port Huron. The three of us took a shuttle bus to the car rental place, which happened to be a slightly sketchy little office in the Sheraton.

This is where things stopped going smooth. After waiting half an hour for somebody to show up at the office, Dad began to fill out the paper work for the car. The guy asked for his driver's license, and then he pointed out that it was two weeks expired.

The three of us must have looked very strange sitting in the lounge at the Sheraton, blankly staring around, trying to figure out what to do. Dad decided to call his friend Lenzi (pronounced Lindsay) to see if he could help us out. Lenzi brought us to his office to google bus schedules and try to come to a conclusion of what to do. We figured out that pretty much the only option (legally, that is) was for him to drive us. He would only drive us to the Canadian/American boarder. We called Mrs. Latham, and she arranged for someone to pick us up in Sarnia.

We went straight to the visitation. I was not prepared for it. I was definitely not expecting an open casket, because of the car accident. An open casket in any case bothers me. I would much rather remember a person alive, because a body... is just a body. They're not there anymore. Around the room, they had pictures, drawings, and certificates on display from her life. One of the drawings was the sign she had on her room for years, and in one of the corners, there was a little drawing of a cow. Strangely enough, that almost brought me to tears. A sign that I did, in a weird way, have an impact on her life.

I got to see Josh, Jeremy, and Ben, which was good. Josh is definitely the least beat up in the bunch. He has a broken pelvis, I believe, and has to walk with crutches. Ben was second best, and has seven broken ribs, and has a bandage on his arm from a big chunk of glass that was taken out of it. He was saying he figured the bandage was a good idea so he didn't bleed on people when they hugged him.

Jeremy was where a lot of mixed emotions came in. The entire time I was at the funeral home, he was sleeping on the couch. In the last week, he's had two operations on his femur, currently resides in a wheelchair, has a extremely scratched up face, including a big bandage over his nose, which was operated on on Friday due to being crushed in the crash. He's on quite a bit of medication, so he's not quite all there. It was his birthday today, and I'm not quite sure how I felt about seeing a beat up kid in a wheelchair opening up birthday presents and eating cake after a visitation. It was depressing, but kind of happy at the same time.

At a local church after the visitation, there was a meal, mostly for the Lathams and the people who came from out of town. I sat at a table with dad, Mr. and Mrs. Latham, Ben, Stephen, Mr. Hinton, and Eden. It was strange, because I think everyone has been so stressed and preoccupied, that everyone just wanted to have a chance leave it behind for an hour to catch up with each other and joke around a bit. It was that little bit of hope at the bottom of the box of terrible things.

It's strange, because I don't think I would have noticed before, but Ben has a lot of the same facial expressions as Elissa. Also, I overheard her aunt say 'Oh Vey.'   
Love,
-J-

And slowly, things began to reassemble.

After earth shattering news, I think I'm slowly piecing life back together. I played Cranium at youth group yesterday, and I'm excited for the pancake breakfast at school tomorrow. Earlier this week, I couldn't concentrate on anything. Things are starting to feel relatively normal again. Somehow, though, I kind of feel guilty for things falling back into place.

Today in English, we were looking at an overview of Romeo and Juliet. One of the questions for discussion was "How much control do we actually have over our lives?" Far too little. She was there. Then she wasn't. It wasn't her fault, or anyone's really. It was a yellow light, and two vehicles trying to get through. It was, as in Romeo and Juliet, fate. Something that just had to happen. Maybe it has purpose. Maybe not.

Elissa had so much potential in life. She could have done a lot for the world. But now it's all over. I spent the last three days realizing just how final death is. When you say goodbye to someone, you always think you'll see them again, whether you realize it or not. But I've got to the realization that never again will I look in my inbox and have a new email from her. Never will I be able to tell her funny stories about school. Never will I be able to talk about the quirky little things in life with her. Never will I be able to hear how she's doing. And so much more. All gone.

Sorry for being so dark and depressing. I feel I can't express it anywhere else. Gosh, I feel like I've aged so much since Monday. I thought that was a thing only found it books, but that's literally how it feels.
Love,
-J-

The aftermath.

I've gotten through the initial shock of Elissa. All of her brothers have stabilized in the hospital. The hardest things now is dealing with my mom's constant pitying looks, and Katie A. having no clue how to deal with me dealing with this and how she is resorting to making jokes and pretending that nothing's wrong (I can't handle it another day without snapping). Today on the bus, when I was barely talking, she stated that I looked depressed. I felt like yelling,"I FRIGGEN WONDER WHY." She just doesn't seem to get that life isn't bubble wrapped, and that inappropriate jokes can't be made about stuff like death.

On Sunday, Dad and I are catching a plane to Toronto and driving to Michigan from there. The funeral is on Monday, and we get a plane back on Tuesday night.

I've been to two funerals in my life, one in Kenya when the Davis' baby died three days after it was born, and last February when my great uncle Elmo died, a few months away from being 90. I'm kind of scared to go to this funeral, to be perfectly honest.

Currently, the books sitting on my desk are Looking for Alaska, Jane Eyre, and Mockingjay. In English class, we're nearing the end of Romeo and Juliet. Everything I read seems to remind me of things I don't want to think about.
Love,
-J-

"Sit down, we have bad news."

In my life, there's never been any "Sit down, we have bad news," times.

That is, until today.

I hung out at the library after school with Moriah. I took the bus home, and when I stepped inside, my parents sat on the couch and said the line,"Sit down, we have bad news." At first, I thought they were joking, so I said something or other, probably a sarcastic comment, but I looked over and they were very serious. So I sat down. The next line was "Yesterday, there was a car accident. Elissa was killed. Ben, Josh and Jeremy are in the hospital, and two of them are in critical condition."

The next half hour or so of my life is pretty much blank. I can remember next to nothing. I can't believe that one of my best friends is dead.

What's even worse is that Mr. and Mrs. Latham have lost a kid to cancer, now Elissa, and have three more in the hospital. 

Here's the article that came up when I googled her name.

Please, pray for them.

This feels like a bad dream.