A bright light, a loud crash and a deafening scream. I woke up panicked breathing heavy and frightened. It was only a dream, though the pit in my stomach told me something had gone dreadfully wrong. Five minutes later I knew exactly what that something was.

I got up and made my way to the bedroom door when my mom called to me from the living room. I headed toward her and she asked “Do you know a Breanne?” Confused and still half asleep I nodded my head yes. After that the only thing I remember her saying was the words “car wreck” and “she’s dead.” I didn’t believe her. I couldn’t. It wasn’t the Bre I knew, but sure enough the photograph on the screen was my Bre.

The police report was something along the lines of:“Breanne Hulsizer, 19, died of multiple blunt force traumas.” Really the cause of death was,” The driver was a complete idiot.” Who in their rightful mind thinks ‘let’s go 70 mph into curves that have loose gravel?!’ He was in his right mind too. No drugs or alcohol were found in his system.  He hit a utility pole, sending my friend through a window into a cornfield. She was pronounced dead at 10:20 pm, two minutes from my front door, September 08, 2009

How could things possibly get worse? That information alone made me feel like I was hit by a bus, but not two seconds later my bus turned into a freight train. 

“Driver Todd Sparks, 22, and passengers Rachel Deyo, 19, and Ben Davis, 19 were transported to OSF Saint Francis Medical Center. Davis was listed in critical condition.”

Not Ben too.

I went to school in a trance. It couldn’t be true they were just here, walking these halls a couple days ago…

Reality hit hard when Bre’s funeral was announced, September 15 was the visitation. With that news came the update that Ben was taken off life support. He was still alive, breathing on his own! Finally there was a light at the end of the stark black tunnel. Hope.

My small light in the menacing tunnel was taken the day after the funeral. Taken, smashed against a wall and stomped on, on September 16. Walking passed a classroom I over heard a teacher say “Ben passed late last night. ”  No, uh huh, she is lying…right?

I had to find out, so I turned to the only teacher I really trusted, my Vice Principal and art teacher, Mr. Gray.

I was whiter than the wall behind me, that I had slumped down to the floor on. He confirmed my worst nightmare. Rereading the email ‘I can’t deny what you have heard. If you want to talk tomorrow, I’m here.’ It took 15 minutes to reply ‘yes, I need to’.  I spent the bulk of the night in my room trying to do homework. I accomplished very little other than sobbing silently. My mother couldn’t even begin to comfort me.

The next day at school dragged. I’d see Mr. Gray and look at him with pleading eyes, but all that was returned was an assuring nod of his head. About five hours later I was sent to Mr. Gray’s office, without hesitation I ran there. “So what’s up?” he asked, knowingly.  I hadn’t a clue what was really going through my head until it all started pouring from my mouth. I had a complete breakdown, right there. I’ll spare the details other than I was crying and the phrase “When it hits home, it hits hard” was so true. Over the next couple weeks after my breakdown all I could think was ‘It could have been me driving home,’ or ‘I should have been able to help them.’

As a result I started drawing more, a lot more. Talking to my art teacher recently, he pointed out I was drawing people with various emotions, emotions I once showed, emotions I longed to have again. I was determined to pull myself out of my 30 mile deep hole, using my 15 foot long rope, and more. I started by helping put together fundraisers to help the families pay for final expenses. There was a moment of silence held in the classrooms in the morning, and the school band played at both funerals.  In trying times we had each other, something that took time for me to realize. I was able to help others by talking about what happened giving them courage to talk as well.

“I lost myself, for a long time, but with the help of drawing and learning to lean on my peers I moved forward. We moved forward. Through pain and sorrow you find you have a bigger family than those who share your blood or last name. They can understand if you let them and together we’ll move forward.”

-Rebecca M. Rusk