What happened to my life? How could I allow things to get so out of hand?
As I sit in my study, composing this letter, attempting to sort out my wretched existence, a bottle of 18-year-old Johnnie Walker stares at me from my desk. Taunting me. Telling me I’m weak. That this will never last.
Attempting to break down my tough exterior that I’ve worked so hard to build ⎯ threatening to end my 10-year sobriety.
But I won't let it!
It’s because of Johnnie that I sit here alone ⎯ with nothing more than my thoughts ⎯ constantly reflecting on years of guilt, shame, and regret. Wishing I could take back the bloodcurdling events that took place 10 years ago.
I think about you every day. About the life you could have had if I hadn’t gotten into my car.
You were only eighteen. So young. So innocent. Your whole life ahead of you.
And I stripped it away from you in a blink of an eye. Just like that! How could I do such a thing?
I go to sleep every night to the sound of the bone crunching agony as your body crashes into my windshield ⎯ dead on impact.
And I’m the culprit ⎯ me! Just some weak, pathetic excuse for a man, who couldn’t muster up the strength to go home to his wife and explain to her that he lost his job. Instead, I took the easy way out, like I always did.
It’s been 10 years now, and there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t regret making a different decision. I wish I hadn’t gotten into my car. I wish I could have mustered up the courage to go straight home and tell my wife the truth about my job. I wish a lot of things.
I know I will be haunted by your death for the rest of my life. And this time next year I will sit down and write this letter all over again ⎯ begging for your forgiveness ⎯ as I have for the past 10 years.
You will always and forever be in my thoughts and prayers.