Theresa Youngman

Died 2 Oct 1998

I didn't know Theresa Youngman very well. I'm not even sure if I can spell her name correctly. Nonetheless, I need to say a few words to her father, Harvey, and the rest of her family.

First, the grim reality of it all. On October 2nd, 1998, Theresa was driving on Topanga Canyon when a large truck turned left into her car. She never stood a chance and was killed instantly. She was a 21 year old college student.

I met Theresa at Toastmasters when she and her father attended some of our local meetings. She was an enthusiastic visitor to our club (Conejo Valley), an active member of her own (Warner Center) and, quite simply, a delightful person to be acquainted with. Subsequent to her first visit to our Toastmasters group, Donna and I happened to be dining at Mimi's Cafe one evening when she came by and reintroduced herself. As a waitress there, and a student, she was unable to attend our meetings, but assured me that her schedule would be shifting soon and she planned to rejoin us occasionally. There were a few other chance meetings like this over the course of a few months; she was always pleasant, always full of life and good cheer.

Last week Harvey returned to our club for another visit. In the idle chit chat of the evening break, I asked him when we might see Theresa again, to which he replied "Never." Addressing my shocked expression, he went on to describe the loss of his daughter. "I am thankful for 21 wonderful years with her," he added.

Each day there is a tragedy in some house or other, unnoticed by the world at large, yet hammering hard at someone's heart. Each day tears are shed for lost children in quiet desperation, but the cries go unheard for the roar of life around us. Perhaps that is as it should be. Perhaps it's best that life hold our focus, that we gloss over each passing death; we shall face our own death someday soon enough. We must, however, listen to the roar, participate in the thunder, revel in the noise, not just shut it out the way we shut out tragedy and sadness. Death not only reminds us of our own mortality; it also reminds us to enjoy whatever pleasure our short remaining timelines allow.

These words may seem odd coming from a man like myself and in truth I wonder how I came to write them down. Ultimately, we all have our memories, but is that all we have? Some memories, like mine of Theresa, are of only a passing nature, while others are of powerful import. Perhaps they can help us wade through that roar we call life.

I didn't know Theresa Youngman very well. I have just described my entire association with her, yet I am nonetheless saddened by her death.

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