2008 Woodie Awards
Magazine evokes emotional response by reflection
Ashley L. Hopkins
Issue date: 9/28/06 Section: Editorial
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Commentary by
Ashley L. Hopkins
Editor-In-Chief
This past Sunday's Parade magazine, which I usually toss aside as I search for the Target ad, bore a question on the front that forced me to open it: If you had one day to spend with someone who's gone … Who would it be?
I've lost many people that meant a lot to me over the course of my life. All of my grandparents have passed away, several other close relatives and family friends have died, and I can't even begin to speculate how many animals my pet-loving family has had to bury since I was a child, all of whom I miss dearly.
But my first thought after reading the question was that I'd spend that one day with Chad.
Chad was a friend I went to high school with. And middle school and elementary school, and if you look back at pictures of my preschool days, you'll see him there, too.
We, and nearly everyone else I graduated with, had known each other for as long as we could remember. That's one of the nice things (and the hard things) about small towns.
It was almost a year to the day that we had graduated from high school that I got the phone call that he had been killed in a car wreck.
After steadily denying that anything like that could have happened for a good two weeks after the fact, I sadly accepted that life does indeed inevitably end in death.
It was the first time I had ever acknowledged immortality, and the moment I realized that we all die - whether at 19 or 90 - remains one of the most distinct memories I have.
I'm not writing this because it's the same time of year that Chad died; it was actually late May of 2004. I'm also not reminded of him because of a looming birthday, which was in March. I'm writing this because I think of him all the time, whether it's May or March or any month of the year.
Not a day of my life goes by that something doesn't make me think of him. He wasn't my best friend, but he was my friend, and losing someone at such a tender age is something that I know will always haunt me and everyone else who has ever had to watch someone under 20 years old be buried.
What would I say to him if I saw him again? I don't know. I don't know if there would be anything to say. But I do know that if I had the chance to see him again, I would savor all the time we had, like I've learned to do with everyone I spend time with since he died.
Before that, I never thought, as I was saying good-bye to someone, that it could be the last time I ever see them. And for teaching me that, I will always be indebted to Chad.
Ashley L. Hopkins
Editor-In-Chief
This past Sunday's Parade magazine, which I usually toss aside as I search for the Target ad, bore a question on the front that forced me to open it: If you had one day to spend with someone who's gone … Who would it be?
I've lost many people that meant a lot to me over the course of my life. All of my grandparents have passed away, several other close relatives and family friends have died, and I can't even begin to speculate how many animals my pet-loving family has had to bury since I was a child, all of whom I miss dearly.
But my first thought after reading the question was that I'd spend that one day with Chad.
Chad was a friend I went to high school with. And middle school and elementary school, and if you look back at pictures of my preschool days, you'll see him there, too.
We, and nearly everyone else I graduated with, had known each other for as long as we could remember. That's one of the nice things (and the hard things) about small towns.
It was almost a year to the day that we had graduated from high school that I got the phone call that he had been killed in a car wreck.
After steadily denying that anything like that could have happened for a good two weeks after the fact, I sadly accepted that life does indeed inevitably end in death.
It was the first time I had ever acknowledged immortality, and the moment I realized that we all die - whether at 19 or 90 - remains one of the most distinct memories I have.
I'm not writing this because it's the same time of year that Chad died; it was actually late May of 2004. I'm also not reminded of him because of a looming birthday, which was in March. I'm writing this because I think of him all the time, whether it's May or March or any month of the year.
Not a day of my life goes by that something doesn't make me think of him. He wasn't my best friend, but he was my friend, and losing someone at such a tender age is something that I know will always haunt me and everyone else who has ever had to watch someone under 20 years old be buried.
What would I say to him if I saw him again? I don't know. I don't know if there would be anything to say. But I do know that if I had the chance to see him again, I would savor all the time we had, like I've learned to do with everyone I spend time with since he died.
Before that, I never thought, as I was saying good-bye to someone, that it could be the last time I ever see them. And for teaching me that, I will always be indebted to Chad.
