‘Liv On’, Olivia

Tears trace my long and slender face, making my full cheeks look boney and my bright eyes look hollow, almost grotesque. I feel sick. Shaking hands fly up to my blotchy face as if to shove this mess of burbling emotions back down to my core. I can’t breathe. With blank eyes, I inspect the mirror as she grasps for any shred of hope like a rat scrambles to escape the clutch of a cool, metal trap. That can’t be me. The metallic taste of blood overwhelms my senses as I bite through my cheek with unconsciously clenched teeth. My legs buckle. I collapse down to the cracked bathroom tile, welcoming the emptiness that took hold inside of me, welcoming anything to replace the helplessness that jarred my senses at the murmur of a single phrase.

“She’s gone.”

Few times in my life have I seen my dad cry. But the devastated mutter of the words “she’s gone” on the other end of the receiver was enough to make even the calmest family member break down in despair.

That August afternoon, my mind was swamped with homework, practice, and new friends, the usual unease for the first week of school. A sudden glance at my dad watering the garden- shoulders slumped, face pulled taught, a small crease forming between his brows- cleared my thoughts like a whiteboard. I peered out the kitchen window at my parents, talking quietly while the forgotten hose flowed mindlessly at their feet. Expressions changed with the water below, flowing smoothly from one pool to the next: concern, confusion, shock, disbelief and so much more contorted their faces.

Tear-stained cheeks studied me from across the kitchen counter as I wondered what news awaited me.

“It’s Olivia,” my mom whispered through tight lips.

My mouth went dry, yet my headspace stayed the pristine whiteboard from before.

“Olivia?”

Naturally, my mind starts painting pictures. Behind my closed eyes, the portrait of a tall and slender young woman flashes me a grin. Long golden hair, porcelain skin splashed with freckles lights up the canvas. Clean and dazzling nails sparkle, mismatched socks, and all things yellow continue to fill any blank spaces. Memories graze the surface of my mind: high-energy volleyball matches hours away, shining confidence no matter the situation, fearless leadership on a college rowing team. Olivia is so similar to me it’s scary. In a way, I felt as though my parents were quietly mourning my own death.

With blurred vision and a growing pit in my stomach, I listened inattentively as my parents described the situation. Shock tightened around my every thought, restricting my breath and blocking my concentration. I grasped only half of every sentence. Car accident. Broken bones. Swelling. Bleeding. Brain dead. Olivia, only 20 years old and full of a sparkling passion for life itself, was gone.

Driving and being educated on safety carries such a huge responsibility because, in a split second, a simple drive home from college could turn into the unthinkable. Any distraction, from looking down at a text to grabbing a jacket from the backseat, could be fatal. Unfortunately, the most recent national data shows that 20% of the national vehicular injuries and deaths consist of college students. It’s easy to feel helpless with this statistic in mind, especially being one person yearning to make a difference. After the tragic death of my cousin, I turned to determination rather than giving into the grief that consumed my heart and clouded my mind.

On my own, I practice safe driving every time I step into the car, ensuring I don’t miss a single step. With the car in park, I connect my phone to the car’s Bluetooth and pick a playlist I won’t get tired of quickly. This way, any important calls can be answered using the controls on the steering wheel and my concentration on the road won’t be disrupted. I then place my phone in a bag or cup holder in the back seat to hinder any temptation to glance down at it. Most importantly, when I drive, the car doesn’t move until everyone’s seat belt is secured.

I carry Olivia’s memory with me everywhere I go, telling her story in hopes of gaining an understanding from friends who don’t take safe driving seriously. Believe it or not, grief has been a powerful tool in uniting and educating on the importance of careful driving. Olivia’s essence lives on in every person who hears her story and in every driver who thinks twice about their own precautions.