November 11, 1968

Summary

The web content reflects on the memory of Bonnie, the author's sister, who tragically died in a car accident on November 11, 1968, and discusses the impact of her life and death, as well as the authorship of a poignant poem often associated with her grave.

Abstract

The article is a personal reflection on the life and death of the author's sister, Bonnie, who was killed in a car crash on her way back from a high school football game party. The author recounts the heart-wrenching details of the accident, the subsequent identification of Bonnie's body, and the emotional turmoil experienced by the family. The author had a plaque with an anonymous poem engraved for Bonnie's grave, which years later was attributed to Mary Elizabeth Frye. The poem speaks to the enduring presence of the departed in nature and everyday beauty. The author acknowledges the pain of loss but also expresses a sense of relief that Bonnie is spared from witnessing the current state of the world. The article concludes with a birthday wish for Bonnie and a hopeful note about a future reunion.

Opinions

The author believes that Mary Elizabeth Frye, the now-acknowledged poet behind the anonymous verse, led a good and long life.
The author expresses a mix of sorrow and gratitude, mourning the loss of Bonnie while also being thankful that she is not experiencing the present-day "hot mess" the author refers to as life.
There is a subtle critique of the current state of affairs, implying that the world has deteriorated since Bonnie's passing.
The author seems to find some solace or comfort in the poem's message, suggesting that Bonnie's spirit lives on in various forms in nature.
The author's tone conveys a deep sense of loss and remembrance, particularly highlighted by the wish for Bonnie to have a happy birthday and the anticipation of a reunion "on the flip side."

Lest we forget indeed.

Do not stand at my grave and weep I am not there. I do not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow. I am the diamond glints on snow. I am the sunlight on ripened grain. I am the gentle autumn rain. When you awaken in the morning’s hush I am the swift uplifting rush Of quiet birds in circled flight. I am the soft stars that shine at night. Do not stand at my grave and cry; I am not there. I did not die.

When I first had this engraved on a plaque for my sister’s grave no one had been attributed to having written it. It was listed as ‘anonymous’. Now years later it’s being stated that it was written by Mary Elizabeth Frye. Ms. Frye must have led a good life. She was born in 1905 and lived until 2004. She was 99 when she passed away.

My sister, Bonnie, had not been as fortunate. Coming home from a party after a local high school football game, she was broadsided. Her car flipped upside down and landed on top of the other car. That car slide off the road and into a field. They all lay there for hours before finally being found. The second car had three persons — the driver who was drunk and driving with his headlights off, and two girls both of whom were drunk.

The driver of the second car died at the scene. One of the girls was in a coma for a while. The other girl was pregnant at the time (I’m not saying a word) and miscarried because of the accident. My sister was flown to a neighboring hospital as Jane Doe. There she had brain surgery to attempt to reduce the swelling. Once there was enough daylight and volunteers the wreckage was combed for evidence. That’s when her purse was finally located. She was no longer a Jane Doe. She had a name.

Bonnie lingered for four days in the ICU before she finally passed away. Dad had to practically carry Mom out of the hospital. The middle sister, Karen, and her husband had to do the same. My husband was AWOL so I was left with a handful of pocket change and in charge of “making the call” to everyone.

So, no, I won’t forget WWII. I won’t forget the 5 of November. I won’t forget Thanksgiving. I won’t forget the election. I won’t forget COVID. But in light of this being my sister’s 52nd birthday, I think all of those things can take a back seat.

Happy birthday, sis.

I used to mourn for all that you had lost. Now I’m glad you’re not here to see and endure the hot mess that we now call life.

See you on the flip side.