the death of a friend. I am reeling. I keep returning to the text messages and her pictures. her last words to me. her unsuspecting smile and laughter when I stopped by at their house last week. my last minute cancellation of a rafting trip because I wanted to actually stay in town and get some work done. the impact of their deaths have a much more profound effect on me than I could imagine.

how could this have happened? I just talked to her yesterday. what do you mean ‘did you hear about Katrina’? but she just graduated, she just got her new dream boat. but she was supposed to go on the middle fork. but she had things to do. they both did. the mystery machine was going to get on the river tomorrow.

it makes me ponder—with stark certainty—the delicate nature of our lives. the passing state of it all. in an instant, it’s gone. no warning, no struggle, just the end. and with heart breaking agony seeing the rest of the world move on, it always does. like no one cares.

it’s equally grueling to know how they died. it’s insane to know I was either supposed to be in that car, or following them in mine. perhaps something would have been different if I had been with them as planned? I feel like I have cheated death in some crazy round-about way. even though rationally I know this has nothing to do with me. but because of this, I have an irrational apprehension of getting in my car and getting on the interstate. I can’t stop to think how they died. what did Dave think when he was thrown out of the car? was he alive? did they worry about each other? was Katrina alive and conscious when her body flew across two lanes onto the eastbound shoulder? did she know she was dying? I am relieved knowing what ever happened, was swift. they both went to sleep right there and then.

I will stop thinking of all this. but I feel like I have been blessed with life. and I am mourning the loss of two precious lives. so young, so full of light.

Katrina and Dave, see you on the flip side. love the ones you’ve got, live each day. and always wear your seat belt. I’m going to go drinking on the river with my dear friend Porter to take my mind off things. but I’ll be thinking of you all the time because of my damn frame. oh, and I got those clips in the mail for you for the webbing. I’ll stop by later so we can cut that plywood for the seats. I signed up for that whitewater rescue class we talked about.