Move On!

Move On!

Some people in this world do not feel the need to look too far into the past. In many ways it’s for the best, but for one who truly refuses to go there, do they truly ever move on? Do they let it go? Accept what has happened? Heal from what it has turned them into? What makes a person never want to revisit the past? Maybe there is no right way to answer such questions!

Hello. My name is Kandace Matthews. I have spent the entirety of my life trying to answer the very questions I have just asked you. I always thought refusing to speak of my past would allow me to move on. I thought setting goals and striving to achieve them would fill the void of what I lost. Personally, I can’t tell you if what I did will work for anyone else. In ways it worked for me and others it didn’t. On one hand I became highly successful professionally and on the other I never truly allowed anyone else into my life after the passing of both my father and brother. Normally I would not waste time with what I am about to tell you. I would bury my face into my next project without a second thought, but I am terminally ill. I have only a few short months left to live, therefore, there is no more reason to look ahead. That is why for the first time I will share with you my past life and how it shaped me into who I am today.

It was the moment my first life ended and just before my second one began. I was in the second semester of my junior year of high school. The winter had brought with it one last storm before it would give way to the beauty of spring. My father, Jeff Matthews was the principal at my high school. I never found it too much of a burden being the daughter of the principal. At times it was rough sure, but overall I enjoyed having him around so much, although his advice about my social life could be annoying at times I must admit. I’m sure part of that was because I could be quite rebellious at times. He never made me feel ashamed of just being myself though. That I have always appreciated about my father above everything else. He was with me driving home from a school trip that day. He asked me to drive so that he could catch up on some paperwork for the budget meeting the following week. I was thrilled as I loved the feeling of the wheel in my hand. Maybe it was just the sense of freedom it gave me, but it gave me a rush back then that I don’t even know that I could explain. He sat in the passenger seat, while my dear little brother Jacob, a freshman was in the back seat talking on and on about his baseball team. I wish I had paid better attention to what he was telling me, but how was I to know those would be his last words. He drove me crazy sometimes, but he always knew how to bring a smile to my face even when I was at my very worst. I’ll always remember that about him.

Then it happened, just like the flip of a switch, before I could even react. I was driving slowly through the intersection and I didn’t notice the Semi driving straight through from the other side. He hit our car directly, killing both my father and brother on impact. I didn’t know then. Everything went black.

I woke up in the hospital 5 days later. I knew that I had been in an accident but remembered nothing after the car was struck. Nurses came into check on me, but said little. My body ached horribly. I looked at my arms and hands. They were covered with scrapes and bruises. My face felt numb. When I first attempted to speak to one of the nurses who had come to check on me nothing came out, but my pitiful attempt to scream. It just hurt so much to even make a sound. I would find out later that this was due to several of my ribs being cracked. The nurse told me don’t speak and pointed to a notepad next to my bed to write on if I needed anything. A few hours went by that way and I began to wonder how my father and brother were doing before my aunt Ruth and uncle Bill came in the room to see me. I could see it in their eyes. I knew something was wrong. Bigger than me! Bigger than my life! I swelled up and I began screaming, but not one sound came out of me. Not one! They stayed with me for the next ten days until I was released from the hospital. What a dreaded prison it was.

I experienced such a whirlwind of emotions during my time lying in that bed from the pain and agony, the immense sadness of losing my father and brother, the regret and guilt of not seeing the semi before it struck us, and much more. Why did I not pay better attention to my father’s advice? Why did I not listen to my brother’s stories or act like I even cared? Then my heart turned to anger. My own mother never came to see me until the day I left the hospital. Aunt Ruth told me that upon learning about what happened that she had a severe panic attack and became very suicidal. She had to be on 24-hour watch for several days. But what excuse is that? I was her daughter, wasn’t I? I was still alive.

Don’t get me wrong, I understood my mother’s grief for some time after I came back home. I thought that eventually after the funerals that she would start speaking and connecting with me again. It just never happened. I soon realized as the months passed that my mother was grieving for not only the loss of her husband and son, but for her daughter as well. She had quit her job and began drinking from sunup to sundown. I thought it was my fault for a time. I decided that it was best that I move on with my life even if my mother was unwilling to do the same!

I spent the next six months going to the rehab facility intent on recovering to the best of my ability. My arms and hands were fine. They were just a little weak and needed time to get back to full strength. My legs and feet were another story though. You should have seen them in the beginning. I felt as though I would never walk again. I was a bit overdramatic at the time though to tell the truth. After more than a month of rest and recovery before even becoming serious about my rehabilitation I could barely stand for more than a couple of minutes without falling down. I gradually went from barely being able to stand, to using a walker, then a cane. Doctors were stunned at my level of determination in being able to both walk and run without aid after a mere 3 months. They were fools. They didn’t understand that this all that I had to get me through each day. They were concerned about other issues in my recovery though and let them be known many times throughout my recovery. I regret some of the things I said to Dr. Andrews before I left the facility for the final time. I had barely turned 18 though and I had already lost my entire life, while trying to start a new one.

 “Why hasn’t anyone come here with you? Your aunt Ruth was with you in the beginning, but I haven’t seen her since you started walking on your own again,” Dr. Andrews asked?

“Why do I need anyone here with me? My aunt helped me out until I could manage on my own. I couldn’t keep being a burden like that to her. She needs to work. My uncle and her need the income, and they couldn’t make it any longer on his salary alone,” I told him.

Seeing the answer as understandable Dr. Andrews continued in questioning me, “Well I can definitely understand that, but how were you getting here? I know you weren’t operating a vehicle yet when your aunt stopped coming with you?”

“I walked,” I replied. I was already growing annoyed at him. I didn’t have much patience back then. Hell I didn’t have any!

“You walked? How far do you live from here,” Dr. Andrews asked growing concerned?

“About 7 miles!”

“7 miles? That’s insane! How do you have the strength to do that and still complete your rehab,” Dr. Andrews asked?

“What else am I supposed to do? Stay at home? Do schoolwork? Try to have a conversation with my mother who seems determined to act as if I died in the car accident as well,” I responded! I remember being so angry towards him that day, but my anger was because of my mother. Her and her alone. That’s what I told myself anyways.

“Is your mother doing that badly? Where is she now,” Dr. Andrews asked?

“I imagine she is at home on the couch having another bottle of wine and smoking a pack of cigarettes,” I told him uninterested at this point.

“Has she been drinking heavily,” Dr. Andrews asked?

“Very! The only time she ever sobers up is when she goes to visit with her psychiatrist Alice. What a quack she is,” I said laughing with disgust.

“Have you tried going with her,” Dr. Andrews asked?

“A couple of times. It’s a waste for me now. I have nothing more to say to that woman!”

“Why not,” Dr. Andrews replied?

“She won’t let me move on from the past. I don’t want to go there with her,” I answered.

“Don’t you think talking about the accident would be helpful,” Dr. Andrews questioned?

“Why should I? I can’t live a day of my life without someone bringing it up to me! No one will just let me move on! Or live my life! Or look to my future! I love my father. I love my brother. They are dead! My mother acts if I’m dead too! What? There’s nothing more to say. Let me move on in my life and find peace. I’m to graduate this year. Go to film school and live as I see fit. Move on! And yet my mother hasn’t lived a new day of life since the day of the accident and she wasn’t even there! She doesn’t know what I went through! She wasn’t there for me at the hospital and she has had nothing to do with my recovery,” I yelled at Dr. Andrews. I was very worked up by then and started to breathe quite heavily! I felt like my blood was boiling.

“I understand your anger and that’s quite natural, but you really need to talk these issues out with your mother. I think it would be best….

“Don’t tell me what’s natural or what you think is best for me! She won’t listen and neither will you! Thank you for everything you have done for me, but I must go now. Good Day!

With a quick goodbye I left the rehab facility never to return. I never spoke with him again. I still wonder what ever came of him. He was a great physician. I finished my Senior year rather quietly or to the best of my ability anyways. It was hard to do that at times with my father being the now deceased former Principal of the school, but I never brought him or my brother up again. Upon graduating at the top of my class I left home to study film in California.

Years later I became very energetic and passionate in writing many screenplays and producing several successful films. When asked about how my past influenced the type of films I produced though I simply responded, “I never look in the past because it’s a waste of my time to dwell on it! Next question!”

“But Ms. Matthews with all due respect, with the type of films you are known for wouldn’t you say your accident had a lasting impact that influenced your career,” a reporter would always ask! And I would respond, “I said next question! Move on!”

Although I would never admit it publicly then every one of my films would portray a piece of my very painful past. They were filled with horror, tragedy or violence; serial killers with no mercy, a young romance ended by an untimely death, disease that would wipe out entire civilizations, or promising careers of young athletes and artists alike being destroyed by either injury or accident!

I was young back then. I was ignorant. I lived my traumatic accident, the deaths of my father and brother, and the lost relationship with my mother every day through my work. And I did it all while claiming to everyone I never look into the past!