ILLUSION OF TIME
Some people pass through our lives, barely leaving a trace. Others blaze through like a fire, impossible to ignore. In my twenties, I met someone like that. Her presence changed me. Her absence changed me even more.
It was a time when life seemed to stretch endlessly before me. And just like that, something happened that cut through that illusion of time.
Like a Brushfire
Her hair was like a brush fire: flaming red, wild, and uncontrollable. Her freckles emphasized the mischievous smile in her bright blue eyes. She had a larger-than-life personality that not everyone felt comfortable with when they first met her.
She was loud and unapologetically unfiltered. Whatever she felt inside, she let it out into the world, expecting everyone else to do the same. She was inclusive and generous and embraced other people with openness and compassion.
Watch Out
She left our apartment late that night, after dinner with friends. With a carefree heart and flushed cheeks, she biked through the streets of Copenhagen.
Maybe she heard the screeching tires or her boyfriend yell “Watch out” just before the car hit her. I want to believe that in that moment, she was simply soaking in the air of the night and embracing life, unaware of what was coming.
Her name was Trine. She didn’t get to live long, but she touched everyone lucky enough to meet her.
Not Knowing
We got the call in the middle of the night and rushed to the hospital. But no one seemed to know anything about a freckled, red-haired girl.
“People have been injured in a fight between rival biker gangs”, they said. ”We’ll let you know as soon as possible”.
On the one night when some kids decided to race cars through the narrow streets of Copenhagen, and recklessly ran into our friend, something ‘more important’ was taking everyone’s attention at the hospital.
It was the most devastating night of our young lives, and it seemed to never end.
Hope
“There’s still hope,” I insisted. “Since they haven’t said anything yet, there must be hope”. “I’m not sure,” her boyfriend whispered, “She looked very bad”.
When someone finally showed up, they simply asked us if we wanted to see her.
“She looks just like she is sleeping”, he said. “What do you mean, is she just sleeping?” The reality of his words slowly crept in.
“I thought you had already been told”, he said.
We had clung to the faint shadow of hope for hours, only to have it ripped away in an instant. Now, we held on to each other in a new reality that forever changed us.
One Day at a Time
He was right. She looked just like she was sleeping. Her pale skin was almost luminous in the dawning light. Her red curls fanned out around her like a fiery halo, untamed and still full of life.
There was a quiet beauty in her face, as if she had taken one last breath and drifted peacefully away. Nothing about her appearance witnessed the brutal truth of her passing.
“How do we move on from here?” I asked myself. How do we fill the void left by a girl whose internal flame burned so intensely that it seemed to set her hair on fire?
Somehow, it just happened – one day at a time.
She was laid to rest under a blanket of vibrant flowers, echoing the warmth of her hair. A few years later, those same Autumn hues would appear in my wedding bouquet
Pain
“They will never be the same,” I thought when we visited her parents. They seemed broken beyond repair. It was painful, and we convinced ourselves that our visits only made their loss seem even worse. Seeing us get married, have children, and live life – things their daughter would never experience.
When I became a mother myself, I realized that nothing could make their pain worse than it already was.
Decades LAter
The sudden loss of her marked me in ways I only fully understand now, decades later. When I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, noticing the fine lines have deepened, I often think of the girl with the freckles and fiery red hair, and how she never got the chance to grow old.
Her life was cut short, but her impact on my life runs deep. Losing her taught me, early on, that everything can change in a single moment.
Now, as I’m growing older and navigating midlife, I find myself returning more often to the memory of the girl who burned so bright and left too soon.
When I get caught up in my own worries: what’s next, what I should have done, what I haven’t figured out yet, I pause and think what a privilege it is to grow old.
You cannot mourn the life you haven’t lived yet, only the one that has already gone. You will never know the meadows you could grow, if you are fixated on the ashes of a garden you never had. – Nikita Gill
And that girl with the fire in her hair?
I kept her hidden in the back of my mind for many years, afraid of the pain it caused to even think about her. Now, I see her young, freckled face before me, as if I just saw her again. She reminds me to live with intention. To never settle for anything less than what keeps my flame burning. And to keep reaching for what makes me feel alive.
Even in the short time she had, her life made a difference, and I wish I could tell her.
Read More
I write about travel and midlife. Check out the Midlife Journal if you want to know how I navigate midlife.
For inspiration on travel and living as a digital nomad, read the Travel Journal
Erik Bang
Meget spændende og interessant læsning.