Twenty years ago I had an interesting encounter. It was early summer, I was in a car at the traffic light, windows down, when a nice young man/boy cycled by, stopped and chatted me up. He quickly wrote down his number on a piece of paper and gave it to me, before I had to drive on.
I called him and we met maybe once or twice before he invited me to his parents' country home. I agreed to go, he said he would pick me up and drive us there. He never came. I waited and later that day some friends of his I didn't even know somehow found me and came to tell me he had a fatal car accident the day before. He went to the country house to prepare for my visit and he was driving without having his driving licence. He died on the spot.
I was in shock. Went to put some flowers on his grave before the funeral and then just went on with my life. Never looked back. I did remember him sometimes but I had some turbulent years, was very young and somehow supressed and blocked these events.
Recently I thought of him and went to look for his grave. I'm deeply ashamed to admit I even forgot his name. I searched by the year of his death and found it. I remembered him instantly. There was even his face engraved in stone. It hit me like a ton of bricks. It took me back all those years. I realised that this lovely young man would still be alive if it weren't for that fateful meeting.
He is alone there, no other relatives, which means his parents must be still alive, still missing their son. He would have been 40 two weeks ago. I felt such sadness for him. I had mostly a great life, while he was denied one. He would probably have children, a family.. I barely knew him, but he will now be a part of me forever. I've decided to cherish his memory like he deserves. I feel I failed him in not remembering, not thinking about him, not visiting his grave..
I would appreciate some words of wisdom, a philosophical view maybe so I could gain a new perspective on this sad situation.