I work with a girl named Meredith. She's from Alabama, or "Bama" as she calls it. The girl is the definition of poor white trash, with a deep southern drawl...and a forked tongue. She bitches about everything. So much so that the girls who sit next to her have all requested to be moved to the other side of the room. She relentlessly teases the girl I'm seeing. No, scratch that, she outright hates her, and she's turned her Medusa head toward me because of it. At a recent work party she called my name, and when I turned she threw a football straight at my face. We make jokes about her and have given her names like "Megadeth", or D.B. for "dirty bitch" or "droopy boobs". To say that I don't like this girl is an understatement. I distance myself from her whenever I can and avoid eye contact like the plague.
Meredith died this week. She was only 25.
This has become one of the more puzzling inner struggles I've ever had to deal with. How do you feel when the school bully dies? Am I sad that she died? Yes. Am I glad that I don't have to deal with her abrasive personality anymore? Also yes. Does this make me a bad person? Of course not. Then why do I feel like one? She wasn't evil. And she wasn't a bad person. She had friends. She made people laugh. Something went wrong somewhere and now it's too late to find out what. A group of us were talking about her the other night, discussing what a complete and utter B-I-T-C-H she could be. Right at that moment she was probably taking her last breath.
Perhaps I was too narrow-minded. Perhaps I could have met her half way. Perhaps I just gave up and never gave her a chance. Perhaps I withdrew into my own little world and decided I was just going to hate her, no matter what. Perhaps she brought all this on herself, but does that mean I couldn't at least try to see her side? It may have all been a simple misunderstanding. Something that could have been easily remedied by merely talking to each other. I'll never know.
Once a person is gone, you don't get the chance to make it right.
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Some days you are the pigeon, some days you are the statue...
2 comments:
A good man questions himself and his actions. Sometimes those questions come too late.
I had a similar experience in high school, when a bully jock was killed by a drunk driver after the prom. The guilt and unanswered questions remain to this day.
I'd like to think they forgive us, however unworthy.
I'm sorry. Much like your brother, I also had a similar experience. It's tough to know whether or not anything you could have ever done/said would have made anything different. It usually takes more than one to badly clash. It's definintely a lesson learned, albeit an extremely painful one. Wherever she is, if you believe in that sort of thing, I'm sure you're forgiven.
You're entitled to grieve in your own way, but I hope you're not beating yourself up badly.
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