stories

The holidays have always been one of my favorite times of the year - family, friends, food, snow, leisure time, etc. Fourteen years ago, that all changed for me. On December 23, 2005, I was out with a few friends seeing a band play in a local bar. Upon leaving, a few of us decided to go to a local chili joint for some late-night food. While waiting to turn left into the restaurant's parking lot, suddenly, things went crazy – an unbelievably loud noise, then a blur of motion. It seemed like it took an eternity when it was probably only a few seconds. Once it all stopped, I struggled to piece together what had just happened. Confused and bleeding terribly from my nose, I attempted to open the driver's door. It was stuck shut. At that point, I realized my friend in the passenger seat was unconscious. I crawled across him and out his door. By then, customers from the restaurant had come out to help and see what had happened. As they helped me to the curb and told me to sit and stay still, a police cruiser came up with its lights flashing. At that point, the officer told me what had happened. The police pulled over a man suspected of driving under the influence in a nearby neighborhood. When the officer came to his window, the driver floored it and drove off, nearly running over the officer. The officer then ran back to his cruiser and pursued the fleeing driver. With no lights on, that fleeing driver barreled down the four-lane road, dodging the sparse early morning traffic. As I slowed down the car to a stop to wait for an oncoming vehicle to pass before turning left into the lot, he swerved to miss another car and rear-ended us. His speed of more than 100mph sent our car spinning and forever changed my life, my friends' lives, and our families lives. At 2:23 am on Christmas Eve morning 2005, my childhood friend in the backseat was thrown from the car and killed. That moment sent me into a tailspin of grief and guilt. I thought of all of the things I could have done differently. What if I hadn't stopped to chat with a friend before leaving the bar? What if I had taken a different route? What if I had recommended another restaurant?... and on and on. I can't say whether it was convincing, but I put up a front that everything was fine and that I was okay. In reality, I was like an old Western movie set, convincing from afar but, upon further scrutiny, just a poor facsimile of normalcy with nothing of substance behind it. I was spiraling. I ran to alcohol to numb the pain. For nearly a year, I ran. I contemplated suicide but could never get past the pain it would cause my family. It wasn't that I wanted to be dead or didn't want to deal with life, but that I didn't feel that I deserved to be here if John wasn't. I stopped wearing a seat belt. I drove drunk on a nightly basis. I woke each morning to a bottle of whiskey instead of a bowl of cereal. I smoked two packs of cigarettes a day. I shut out my family and friends in lieu of drinking buddies and enablers. I did everything I could to put myself in a position where fate could correct its mistake of letting me survive. One morning I woke to go to work, and I couldn't remember where I had been the night before, didn't remember driving home, and couldn't find my car. On the front steps of my apartment in the middle of the busy village square, it hit me. My legs gave out. In the doorway, I fell to the floor in a crouch and began crying… realizing that I was no better than the man who had taken my friend's life. The only difference between us was that I had been lucky enough not to hit anyone while driving drunk. The weight of my irresponsibility hit me like a ton of bricks. I couldn't move. I was crushed by it. I needed help. I was diagnosed with PTSD and went to therapy for over a year, where I learned how to deal with my grief and overcome the feeling that I wasn't worthy of life and love. Slowly I emerged from the darkness. That year saved my life. My friends and family, who didn't give up on me during my tailspin, saved my life. My friend who lost his life saved mine. I strive to honor his memory by making the best of my second chance; I can only hope to live up to that task. Brian Bruemmer