She introduced me to college and made me feel right at home. Anytime we had a question (and I do mean anytime–day or night), she made herself available to us. My freshman year, my suitemate and RA Marissa made a huge difference in my life. I loved drama, and joined the school’s traveling drama group, The Cast. Every Sunday, we would travel to different churches and put on skits. I loved it, and she was part of it! My suitemate, RA, and fellow Cast member, I looked up to her like an older sister. There was only one other freshman in the group, and she lived out in married housing. In the dorm, it was just me. The little sister. I was never best friends with them because most were seniors, but they were in many ways my family away from home.

At the end of the year, Marissa encouraged me to apply for an RA position. She was getting married in December, so she would live in the dorm as a regular person until then. So I did, and I got it! I became the RA for that hall, and moved into her room that Fall.

I really need to put all of this in a timeline, because it’s important to remember here that I had one of the best summers of my life ministering with a church. It was  2003, and the one time I loved ministry work, but the end of the summer left me desperately lonely. My Cast member friends from the year before had graduated (except for Marissa, but she was busy with her fiance), and my youth pastor friend from the summer transferred. At this point, I was 19, and had never had a boyfriend. I felt so alone. Then I met Bob. At this point in the story, we weren’t dating, but we were attracted to each other. I ate dinner with Marissa, Bob, and another friend of mine whom I will call Rachel (I’ve talked about her on this blog, but never in a story) one night. I didn’t talk much to Marissa or Rachel because it was Wednesday, and Bob and I were looking over notes for youth group that night.

I regret it so, so much. It was the last time I ever saw Marissa. She was killed in a car accident a few days later: exactly two months before her wedding. Apparently, she had been driving back to school from a weekend at home. As she rounded the corner, sunlight blinded her, and she veered off the road. She died a few minutes later, from a concussion.

I remember someone, I don’t remember who it was, telling me the news as I crossed the street heading back to my dorm from class. I remember not thinking, not feeling anything. I went up to my dorm room and sat on my bed, staring out the window. I thought about the Super Bowl party at her parents’ house, the giggles, the late night talks, our time in The Cast. I remembered one night knocking on her door. She opened it with tears streaming down her cheeks. I asked her what was wrong, but she didn’t tell me. I never did find out what had been bothering her. Then it hit me: that was this room. She had dreamed, cried, laughed, and lived in this room. Tears started pouring down my cheeks.

At some point, I don’t remember how, I found out that Rachel was in a professor’s office. I ran to the building, looked at the professor, looked at Rachel, and started sobbing. We clung to each other the rest of the day and night.

I called my youth pastor friend, desperately needing to talk. He didn’t say much. I didn’t really feel like he cared. I saw Bob. Things had cooled between us, but we were still friends. I gave him a hug, but he didn’t act like he cared much, either. I felt like I was falling, and nobody cared enough to try to catch me. Nobody even wanted to catch me. I had already felt vulnerable, but now so much more so. Because the grief didn’t stop. Neither did her presence. Someone kept calling my dorm room asking for Marissa. I kept mumbling she wasn’t there. Finally, one day, the person on the other end said, “Well, do you know where she is? She entered a contest and won a free honeymoon.” I paused for a very long time. “She died,” I finally choked out. The lady on the other end was horrified. I didn’t hear back. But every day, every night, I remembered whose room I was in.

Three weeks later, I began dating Bob. Naive, stupid, and vulnerable is how I ended up where I was.

It’s been just over six years, but I still can’t look at anything Wizard of Oz without thinking of her. Sometimes, I still miss her. She was a role model, mentor, and the closest I ever came to having an older sister.

This entry was posted on Sunday, November 1st, 2009 at 10:32 pm and is filed under Memories. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.