If you’re a runner, surely by now you’ve heard of Meg Menzies, the runner and mother of three from Virginia, who was struck and killed on a run earlier this week.
From the looks of things, it seems like she was doing everything right. She was running against traffic, wasn’t running in the street, when an allegedly intoxicated driver crossed the white line and hit her.
And on Saturday, bunches of us are running our miles and dedicating them to the mother of three, who lost her life on Monday.
It really freaked me out when I read about this and got me thinking.
A little over 2 years ago, one of my campers was killed when the driver she was riding with failed to negotiate a turn in the middle of the night. He escaped, with a .09 BAC and a broken wrist. She did not, and was consumed by flames when the BMW caught fire.
It really, really bothered me for months, and I went so far as to reach out to her mother, who seemed glad to talk and share about Remy, who was nothing short of a firecracker. She loved it when I played Beyonce in class, she wore this jangly Tiffany’s bracelet all the time, and once screamed at us for making her clean her room. So I looked up the kid who’d killed her. And found that he was still being held in a prison in Norfolk, coincidentally, an hour from where we’d camped that summer.
I thinking of writing him. I’m not still super angry. Or sad. But I do bet he doesn’t feel great in the least about what happened, and I do bet it could be interesting to talk to the guy who spent his last few moments with my girl. I totally forgive him. I already had when I realized he would have to spend the rest of his life thinking about how Remy had passed. But I want him to know that.