Chapter Ten: The "Handprint on my Heart"

Since beginning with the blogs about my travels and work experiences, I have received a lot of positive feedback about writing. The truth is, growing up, I was never a particularly talented writer. It was my brother, the literature major, who was constantly receiving praise for his writing abilities. Although I was always a huge lover of books, I just never seemed to be able to get a grasp on writing. I couldn't seem to find my voice.

The first time I ever received an "A" on a written assignment was my freshman year of college. Many of my friends have often heard me chastise my high school English teachers for being too hard on me, especially because since being in college I have not received anything but A's on written assignments, in any class. I have since learned that the difference in my grades had nothing to do with English teachers in high school being too hard on me. I still had to learn who I was as a writer. This, I think, is the most important thing. 

That first writing assignment was for a class called WRT 100, and the assignment was due within the first month of being at school, only two short months since The Day. Our task: compose a Literacy Narrative. We had to write about a time that reading or writing had affected us in one way or another. Little did I know then that this writing assignment would play a huge role in the literacy narrative of my life. 

Of course, I wrote about Grant. I had felt the urge for the two months prior to write, and that was exactly what the assignment was about. What made it easier was that I could see the accident happen in my mind every day since that morning. 

~

We met in the summer of 2010, after my best friend Nicole introduced us. The three of us spent a fun summer together, and I often look back on some great memories of those warm summer nights spent by a campfire, and a couple of Indians games we attended together. It was those two, Nicole and Grant, that I turned to when I greived over losing my first pet, tragically. We spent many nights together, growing closer as the summer went on. It wasn't long into the start of my senior year, when I became overwhelmed by my workload and my role in Phantom of the Opera, that he and I eventually stopped talking. Looking back, I can see the day that God entered our friendship. It was almost eight months later, on May 30th, 2011. I was driving to my friend Natalie's house on a Monday night. I remember because Natalie and I were getting together to get our weekly dose of Secret Life of the American Teenager (which I am more than slightly ashamed to admit). I drove past Blackbrook Golf Course, where Grant used to go golfing. I thought to myself as I passed how long it had been since we'd talked, and how I missed his goofy smile. 

I arrived at Natalie's house a few minutes later and sat down in front of the tv while Natalie made popcorn. My phone buzzed. I looked down, and couldn't believe my eyes. I handed the phone to Natalie and asked if she could please read the text out loud. She read, "Hey, what's up?" I asked who it was from, and she replied, 

"Grant." 

~

There is a lot that you learn from losing someone as young as I did. I know it can't be the same as losing a family member, or a lifelong friend, or a spouse. But at seventeen, it's a shock. For me, it inspired a rapid change that I am only now starting to recognize. I have known for a long time that I get along better with people who are older than me. I've been told by one of my family members that I understand things at my age that they did not understand until much later in life. Part of that was the the three days following his death. Part of it was going into my first year of college as the only person, seemingly, who understood the consequences of driving intoxicated. Of getting in a car without a seatbelt. One of the more complicated moments in my college life was when I stopped the car and had to ask my friend to get out and walk home if he would not put a seatbelt on. He thought I was kidding until I drove away. The friendship didn't recover, but the lesson was worth teaching. I don't ever want to lose another friend the way I lost Grant. 

~

After hearing from Grant after so much time had passed was a blessing. It led to some wonderful memories. That first conversation actually led to us going to an Indians game together. He loved baseball and my mom got us great tickets - right up front, between home and first. He was like a little kid, absolutely giddy, that day. Just remembering makes me smile!

~

In my Literacy Narrative, I told everything. I described the accident, the morning when I found out. I described what it felt like having to go to my senior piano recital that afternoon and perform in front of all of my family and friends...something for which I had been preparing for nearly three years. The next day was my graduation/birthday party, and then calling hours and a funeral the two days following my eighteenth birthday. People who read my story called me strong, but I wasn't strong then. Life keeps going, and strong doesn't just mean you didn't lock yourself in a room and shut the world out. Sometimes there is no other option than to keep going. But after that, when looking back, that is when strong comes. It comes with difficulties - being an outsider in college when you don't want to drink. Getting called "mom" condescendingly when you tell your friends to buckle their seatbelts. Strong is in the invisible scar I wear everyday. Strong is the woman I have grown to be, from the feeling of life that exploded within me after his death. As strange as it sounds, I never felt truly alive until I understood the fear of death; the fear I gained through that of my friend.

Being young is amazing. The opportunities presented to people while they are young are endless and incredible. But being responsible, a lot of people my age think, contradicts being young. Making smart decisions, making hard decisions, you can do those and be young. Young doesn't have to mean stupid. Sometimes young, and stupid, and irresponsible lead to things that young people refuse to think about. Sometimes young, and stupid, and irresponsible can turn those endless opportunities, like the chance to move to South Carolina to become a professional golfer at 21 years old, into ash.

The day after I turned eighteen I went to a closed casket funeral for a friend who died while driving drunk. 

Looking back, I know where I found my voice. I know where I found courage - and that may have been the most important thing. Moving to Mackinac, coming to Italy...before Grant, I don't think I could have ever done that. At some point, everyone will face a moment where their path is changed forever, for better or for worse. I have been praying, since that day, that during my lifetime I can impact someone's life for the better, in the way that Grant impacted and changed me forever. 

Who would have ever thought that one person or one event could change another's path so drastically as it changed mine. 

~

The morning of Grant's death, my friend Nicole opened her devotional bible. The first line of that day's passage read, "You learn more at a funeral than at a feast." 

I have carried those words with me for three years, and found a lot of truth in them. 

In loving memory of Joel Patrick "Grant" Furr. December 6, 1990 - July 16, 2011.