Fifty years ago today. I looked at my calendar this morning and recognized the date. It was a pivotal event, one of those events that divided my life calendar into “before” and “after” categories.

PamPam was my first real girl friend. She was the first girl I kissed. She was the first girl to break my heart. And she was the first person for whom I was a pallbearer.

On August 10, 1966 Pam was killed in an auto/train accident. She was 16. I was a week away from my 17th birthday. We had dated for several months, then she broke up with me. I went through weeks of sadness, then some anger, some revengeful feelings, and then we became friends again. They my family moved away. Two months later I got the news that she had been killed.

I had no way of making sense of her death. I had no one to talk to. Everyone with whom she and I had been friends lived in Longview, four hours away. I saw them at the funeral. The other five pallbearers were my best friends, but none of us as teenagers had a way to understand or talk about it. I did not have time to stay around and let words and feelings emerge. We had to get back on the road.

The next day I was back at my new home where no one knew her. I was left holding my thoughts and feelings inside.

My grief did not compare to the experience of her parents, Helen and Truett, or her sister, Ginger. They suffered, and still do, in ways I cannot imagine, because grief does not go away. It changes forms and intensities. It gets absorbed into daily life, but it changes daily life as it blends in. A loss is always a loss.

I will always be grateful for Pam and for her family. She and they helped shape me. Her loss shaped me as well. Her loss and the loss of others since then shaped my life’s work as someone who has helped others with their grief.

I will always miss her and wonder who she would have become. She would have turned 66 in May. So today, I honor and remember her.