The Morning Blend
Welcome
Complete Media Kit
Guest commentary by Kristen Hoggatt
Special to the Herald/Review
Perhaps I should have pursued a profession other than writing, such as nursing or public administration or some other equally outward-reaching profession. My skills are inward. After two years in a master’s of fine arts writing program, I am pretty good at looking into my psyche and describing what haunts me in tangible concretes. I can adequately describe the feeling that has been coming every May since the day of my car accident in which two of my friends, Stacey Hemesath and John Cooper, died.
Since May 23, 1998, I have not been able to breathe without knowing that my two friends can’t breathe anymore. That night, all three of us were thrown from a red Chevy sedan traveling more than 100 mph. I have imagined that there was only so much oxygen on Interstate 10 that night, and I greedily took it and left my friends to die. At times, I willingly take shallow breaths, hoping my sacrifice makes up for something.
My world post-accident became so intertwined with brain injury, trauma, death and survivor’s guilt that I decided I needed to move away from Arizona. I joined the Peace Corps. I thought that two years of service would redeem me as a human, and I would be able to breathe again. But when my Peace Corps group got emergency-evacuated out of Uzbekistan and I found myself home prematurely, I realized I didn’t feel better at all. I would beam whenever my mom or dad would proudly announce that I had just returned from the Peace Corps, but I was a mess inside, being more aware of life’s injustice, sorrow and bitter unpredictability.
 Kristen Hoggatt |
I tried to keep myself busy. My days were spent at the gym, eating and studying for the GREs. That wasn’t enough. Finally, I moved to Egypt and worked there for a year while I was applying to grad school in the United States. Moving to Alexandria was the best decision of my life because, not only did I meet my future husband, but the inaccessibility of booze helped me clean up my lifestyle. My drinking habits had worsened in Uzbekistan where I could get a liter of vodka around the corner for a nickel.
I have to admit that my life is the best it has ever been. Much of the year, I am happy, confident and reasonably well-adjusted.
But in Boston, this May is a rainy season, and the dark sky darkens my mood. I have spent the day listening to sad Uzbek music, and staring up at the living room ceiling through my hot tears. I graduated high school 10 years ago, but as the accident occurred just days before graduation, I was in the hospital in a coma. I only remember the aftermath of graduation, which for me was loss, pain and ineffable sadness.
Outside, May weeps for Stacey and John, as I have been weeping all day, and like the rain, I haven’t been able to stop.
KRISTEN HOGGATT graduated from Buena High School in 1998. She is currently living with her husband in Boston teaching English as a second language and attending graduate school at Emerson College.
Ken wrote on May 30, 2008 9:18 PM: