17 November 2008
I found out this morning that one of my crewmates, Tim (from when I was working for Papa G), lost his youngest daughter this weekend. I might post something more in a few hours but right now I'm somewhere between numb and weepy and that's a horrible combination for writing a blog post.
Her name was Olivia. She had just turned 15 years old. When Tim talked about his daughters at work, there was usually a smile on his face: either he bragged about their accomplishments or teased a little, like when he told me once that I text-messaged almost as much as they did. When I heard that one of his daughters had died, I immediately looked for a reliable answer. Rumours are extraordinarily common on construction sites, but unfortunately this wasn't one of them. The news story was splashed across the front page of the "Nevada" section in our local paper.
Apparently she'd been a passenger in a truck that participated in a street race; the driver lost control, swerved, overcorrected, and flipped the truck, ejecting Olivia. She died at the scene.
Although I lost my son 3 years ago, it was different. I'd had a few days to prepare for his death before it happened...as much as one can prepare for a child's death. His death also wasn't so violent. And oddly, although I know in a sense what it's like, I can't say I know how Tim's feeling. I'm just really hurting for him and his family right now; I've worked with his brothers and they are all really excellent people. The entire thing is senseless and depressive and it's hard to accept.