I drove past Sarah's memorial again today on the winding road to Nike Point.
It's still there. Only the biggest parts of the memorial still stand--the wreath of now withered flowers and the big heart-shaped statue with the wings, faded after holding its post for a year, along with a couple candles that survived the weather. But it's still there.
It's been a year since my friends and I swerved around that corner in the dark and discovered the army of memories assembled by the roadside. Seeing it in daylight against the gray and rainy skies wasn't as dramatic as the first time, but I could see it clearly now and that drove it home once again. We hadn't imagined it; it really happened.
There was no eerie winds, no lump in my throat, no devastating silence this time. No one got out of the car to look; just a prolonged glance as the car wheeled past. But that was enough.
On the way back down, I tried not to look at it.
I'm sorry, Sarah.
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