By Elise Coby

I remember everything about him. The memories we shared, the smell of him, his flannels, the yelling, the apologies and the closed doors.

I didn’t realize I would be closing a door on him forever.

My mother has words of wisdom she shares with me ever since I was a young girl, but I did not appreciate the weight of those words until October 7, 2020.

“Never leave without saying goodbye,” she would tell my younger sister and I after our various arguments. The arguments were over things like name-calling, annoyance and even over borrowed clothes. We had those moments of anger toward each other, but never to the point of true hatred. We still loved each other.

Unfortunately, I learned that sometimes feelings of hatred promote a different kind of love.

For a short while, my relationship with him was filled with unconditional happiness and excitement. He called me his, and I called him mine. I was learning the ropes of a new and strange environment of university and so was he. I felt like we were taking it on together. I spent all my time with him, but always felt something was a little bit weird.

My friends didn’t care much for him, but I couldn’t understand why.

I stayed up late playing video games with him and he would drink. We would go to dinner (never in public) and then he needed to call his friends over to drink. Sometimes it would put him in a great mood and other times it made him hostile and aggressive. He would tell me he loved me, but I felt like I barely knew him anymore.

But I guess every relationship has its bumps, right?

Our disagreements became full-blown arguments. I took time to study while he pushed for me to hurry up and come over. His friends sat silently on his stiff, leather couch listening to him yell while I cried behind his bedroom door. He would leave to grab a solo cup, fill it with vodka and would eventually make his way back to me.

Soon, I would come over to find a new gift that would be waiting for me each visit. Expensive things, small things, but objects of matter, not love.

I subconsciously understood that life around me was changing. I didn’t want to be around my friends anymore because they said I acted differently. I would forget to text my mother. I was busy trying to carry him home every weeknight across campus from another one of his wild nights out.

My friends would call and ask where I am.

Sometimes when they asked that, I wondered where I went too.

A once comfortable place with him became one of anxiety and restlessness. One night of partying with my friends became one that later turned into one of being taken advantage of by him.

His mother would call in the morning and the hum of the ringtone bothered him. He would pick up the phone, see it was her and then slam the phone down on his wooden table. She would call again. The morning sun illuminated his speckled brown eyes as he wearily opened them to pick up the call this time.

“What mom?” he said with complete disdain and annoyance. “Hi honey, I was just calling to make sure you made it to class. It’s family weekend. Will I get to meet her?” she said.

“No mom. Goodbye.”

I missed my mom. I missed my friends. I missed who I used to be before him.

It became hard to see him. Winter break rolled around and that frosted his personality over that much more. I remember meeting his brother over FaceTime and seeing his sweet smile. It didn’t remind me too much of him. His mom would yell in the background of the call and soon I was staring at a black screen.

I felt sick knowing I had to go back to school in January. I hid the hoodie I had of his at my house.

I felt nauseous. What would he be mad at me for? Do my classes matter? Does anything matter?

In an overwhelming wash of anxiety and panic, I called him and told him I couldn’t be with him anymore.

Back in my dorm at school, he texted me for the first time since that call.

“Let me see you just one more time. Please. I just need to see you again,” he said with desperation.

I told him no. He insisted over and over. Finally, I had enough.

“Leave me alone. I’ll have someone drop off your things. I never want to see you again.”

A few months later, on October 7, 2020, I received a gut-wrenching call from a friend.

“I thought you might want to know he died in a car crash yesterday,” said my friend.

I was nauseous. There’s no way.

I broke down in tears and remembered the way we had ended things.

I told him I never wanted to see him again. And I wouldn’t.

Soon, I began hearing from his own friends. They would ask if I was alright after I asked if they were, and they would say things like they wish they had done something to help me when things got dark between him and I.

“He was a troubled kid… I hate to say it, but I am not completely surprised this happened. He needed help,” his best friend told me.

Eventually, I found his obituary. He was driving up a mountain while speeding. Distracted by an unknown cause, he sped over the double yellow lines crashing head-on into a mother of two, also injuring another driver who sustained minor injuries. The mother was killed. His car caught on fire and just like that, two lives were lost because of a distraction.

I stood alone in my apartment’s kitchen staring at his contact. That last text I sent illuminated in blue, mocking me.

“Delivered.”

I never said goodbye.

It’s already difficult to deal with the concept of death, but when you see a contact on your phone connecting to someone who no longer exists after hours of calls and texts were exchanged, it doesn’t make sense.

It was surreal seeing his social media. Pictures with lively captions and colorful memories. I felt like I did not deserve to grieve. I thought of his younger brother, his mother and his father who he left behind. I felt awful, but even more so for them.

I invalidated myself for grieving for months after his death. I beat myself up every time I thought of him. I boiled with anger. While we will never know the exact reason behind the crash, I struggled with the fact he was responsible for the death of another. I thought of that mother and her poor family. She didn’t deserve this fate.

It took me two months to delete his contact, three to un-add him on social media and two years to accept his passing.

I had two options: I could keep beating myself up for trying to grieve and deny myself validation for my feelings or I could accept what happened as something I can’t change.

I was tired of letting his memory haunt me.

There are things I wish I couldn’t remember about him. There are parts of me I know I will never forgive him for.

But I soon realized this became a harsh life lesson. I became close to my friends again, I was calling my mother every day and I switched to a major I loved more than anything. I felt like I belonged again.

Although very painful, this experience allowed me the confidence to find myself again. When I went home for the next break, I hugged my family members and never wanted to let go. When it came time to go back to school, I said goodbye to each one and I hugged them again as tight as I could.

I learned a few lessons. I learned from his existence that I was stronger than I thought I was. I was able to protect myself and detach from him when I felt like something was wrong. I learned that I was allowed to grieve. It was okay to be mad, upset and confused because the more I accepted those feelings, the more at peace I was able to feel.

The most important lesson, however, is to never leave without saying goodbye.

Because you never know when it will be the last time.

---

Elise Coby is a junior at High Point University majoring in Environmental Journalism with a minor in Environmental Science. For contact inquiries, please email ecoby@highpoint.edu.