The Story of Griffin Hawkins

Chapter Thirty-Two- Tom's Story

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Unedited, first draft

Chapter Thirty-Two

Week Nine

Thursday

Griffin drove us to therapy and I was happy. He made me happy. It was also still scary to put your love and happiness into someone else. I wasn't even sure how he really felt about me, besides that I meant something to him. Did he love me? I shook my head of those thoughts. It wasn't the time. This session was for someone else.

Today was Tom's story.

Tom was a dark skinned man in his mid-sixties. I knew this because he had once talked about going to high school in the seventies once. The thing about him was that he had not aged well. Life wore on his face. He did have a nice, white, straight smile. It was the only thing about him that didn't show how life had treated him. His hair had grayed long ago and his dark eyes held sadness, even when he was smiling. Today I found out why.

I loved the Seventies, man. It was a good time to grow up, not necessarily as a black man, but still. I had a good childhood, came from a good, loving home. I graduated high school, married a beautiful woman and had three beautiful babies. Everything was perfect. Perfect.

He lost himself in thought for a moment. Reliving the good memories.

On August 18th, 1990, I lost everything. That morning was like every other. I woke up, I kissed my wife, and I ate breakfast with my babies. Today was a bit different because we were heading down to North Carolina for vacation for a week before my babies had to go back to school. We had it all planned to stay at my wife's Uncle's house and we would be able to enjoy time with family.

Our stuff was packed in the car and we started our trip bright and early. We were only an hour in. An hour. When this truck driver, who maybe had stayed up later and was just trying to push through on his delivery, swerved into our lane.

The car rolled...into oncoming traffic. We were hit again.

Tom struggled to compose himself, not that it mattered as tears were streaming down his face.

I... I don't know how I survived. I wished I hadn't, I'll tell you all that right now. I wish I hadn't. Instead I got to hold my dying wife, my dying thirteen year old daughter, my dead ten year old son, and my dead seven year old son.

I won't bother telling you what life was like the few days after that. I think you all can use your imagination there.

I lost everything that day and I don't know how I'm alive. I want to join them so bad, but my momma and my brothers and sisters won't let me go.

Survivor's guilt they call it. That's what I have. It should have been me. It should have been me. Now, I try to drink myself to death. My family put me into rehab and therapy. They won't let me go.

Fuck this. I'm done telling my story. Ya'll just need to let me die so I can be with my family.

Tom abruptly got up and left the room.