As I continue to read Griffin’s words, I realize I’ve recited almost the entire eulogy without getting choked up. In fact, I haven’t felt anything since I came home from the hospital to a room full of memories of Katie.
After delivering the eulogy, I sit through the rest of the ceremony, holding both Carson’s and Griffin’s hands for dear life.
People continued to come up to me after the ceremony, telling me how lucky I am to be alive. But if they knew the kinds of intrusive thoughts that have riddled my brain the past few days, they’d never think I was lucky.
I know I should be thankful to be alive, but any gratitude for my life is washed away by grief and the guilt that consumes me.
If I hear one more person encourage me to live for myself and for Katie, I will lose it. Don’t they understand that I can’t fucking breathe, let alone live without her here with me?
We’re in Griff’s Jeep in front of my dorms early the next morning.
After the burial yesterday, Griff asked me if we could go up to the bluffs, just the two of us. He wanted to be together in a place that wasn’t filled with Katie’s things and memories of her. I agreed, and we spent the night wrapped in each other’s arms beneath the stars.
But since we woke up this morning, Griff hasn’t spoken a word. When I asked him if he was ready to bring me back, his only response was a single nod.
Unable to bear the silence any longer, and knowing this is my last chance to see him in person for almost two months, I plead to him, “Griffin, this is the hardest thing we’ll ever endure. But I want you to know I’m here for you. I’ll always be here for you. Just please lean on me, grieve with me. Please don’t push me away. I love you so much, Griff—”
“No.” He cuts me off in a chilling, detached tone. “You need to stop telling me that. Stop lying to yourself when you say or think those words.”
My spine stiffens from his unsettling tone and hurtful words. “I love you, Griff. Did you hear me? I just told you I love you, that I’m here for you, and your response is to rip my heart out by telling me I’m lying?” I raise my voice at him, losing my patience. He’s hardly spoken to me since I woke up this week. I understand he’s grieving, but so am I.
“You can’t love me, McKenna. Don’t you understand? A part of me died with her! I can’t feel anything. I’ve gone numb. I’m not even half the man you need me to be. I’ll never be whole again,” he yells back at me as he pounds his fist into his chest.
“And you think, what? That I don’t feel numb? That I don’t feel guilty for every breath I take? I wish I could take her place,” I scream in agony as I let the darkness bleed out of me. “God, I’ve wished every second of every day since that horrible moment that I would’ve been on that side of the car. Or I would’ve called Carson or my parents to pick us up from the airport instead of waiting for an Uber. I drive myself crazy thinking of every different scenario that should have happened so Katie could still be here,” I holler with such ferocity that my voice becomes hoarse and my throat burns. I shove my hands into his chest. He doesn’t even move; he just stares back at me.
“Neither of you should have even been in that car. If you wouldn’t have been so desperate to see me—if this relationship didn’t blind us—then she would still be here,” he breaks. Unwilling to look at me, he stares straight ahead.
My heart dissolves in my chest at his accusation. His words sink me, and I feel like I’ve been struck. He just confirmed my greatest fear: Griff blames me for that night—for the accident.
He must sense the gravity in his words because he tries to back-peddle. “It’s just going to be too hard, McKenna. You should be focusing on your dreams and goals. Play in the Olympics. Win a gold medal. Dedicate your time to your studies, make new friends, and play the best volleyball you can.”
I cut his rambling lies off when I say, “Tell me the truth. Don’t feed me halfhearted excuses. Why are you doing this?”
His answer is the kill shot to our relationship. “I don’t want you anymore. How can I be with someone who will remind me of everything I’ve lost for the rest of my life?”
Despair slices through my chest, shattering my already broken heart into pieces, his words cutting me like a knife.
We’ll never be able to come back from this.
15
October
Nothing feels right. I’m on auto-pilot—going through the motions, completely numb from any feeling besides unrelenting heartbreak.
After Griffin broke my already-shattered heart into a million irreparable pieces, I had to come back to a dorm filled with Katie’s belongings.
The pain I feel every day without Katie here feels like I’m walking on snow, and all of a sudden, grief strikes me like an avalanche, burying me alive.
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve dialed her phone, just to have it go to her voicemail. She was my person. I went to her for everything, and she was always only a few steps, or a phone call away. Lately, I just call so I can hear her voice on the voicemail message.
Carson has been my rock; I’m not sure what I’d do without him. He even came by the dorm and helped pack up Katie’s things. Jack told me to keep anything of hers that would bring me comfort and the rest he would go through.
After meeting with my coach and athletic director, we decided it would be best if I redshirted this season. Because I only played two games before the accident, I was able to qualify for a hardship waiver.With the concussion that resulted from my brain swelling, combined with the grief, anxiety, depression, and survivor’s guilt I’m working through, I was on board with my coach’s suggestion.
Being a redshirt freshman means I’ll still practice with the team once I’m cleared, but I won’t travel or play any games. I also don’t lose a year of eligibility. Due to the severity of my concussion, I’ve been out of practice for over a month, and it’ll be another two weeks before I can return to light activity.
The extra time off practice has allowed me to catch up on my classes, go to some of Carson’s pre-season games, and find a therapist to work with.
