Finding My Way Home: A Reflection
- Gabby Mazza
- Mar 6, 2022
- 3 min read

I never imagined a life like this.
One where I would be terrified to walk the streets of my own neighbourhood. Especially past the place along the bus route where I grew up and went to school. That spot is my absolute nightmare. My city never truly felt like home, but it never mattered because Liv’s house was always around the corner. It took me eight minutes to walk there, two if my dad drove me.
We were together every day. We’d often walk to the convenience store to get strawberry ice cream. We’d embrace the evening sunsets and talk about our days while wandering the streets of our neighbourhood.
Our friendship was unlike any other. We looked into each other's eyes and instantly felt at home. Whenever we hugged, I could feel Liv’s light transfer onto me. Perhaps that’s why yellow has always been my favourite colour: the colour of the sun, something so bright and so beautiful. Just like Liv.
Ever since the crash, I've been terrified. The sound of car engines gets stuck in my head and plays on loop like shitty elevator music. When I'm home, I can barely sleep knowing that the spot is just down the street from me. People from the community often switch up the flowers and add new pictures, but it’s Winter now, and the snow has covered the spot, so there’s really no point.
To a stranger, that’s just any old intersection. But to me, my people, and my community, that’s where Liv took her last breath. And it’s down the street from me, in the place along the bus route where I grew up and went to school. The place I used to call home, but doesn’t feel like home anymore; nowhere does.
I wished my parents understood how much this hurt: to be grieving the loss of my best friend just minutes away from where she died. We would often argue about taking alternate routes to avoid passing the intersection. For a while, my dad was cold and insensitive and often drove by it despite my constant remarks not to. It didn’t really matter how many times I explained how traumatizing it was to be there; it seemed like he did not care.
I quickly realized that I needed an escape. I couldn’t bear to keep living in a place that caused me so much pain. The mere act of just sitting on the front porch filled me with anxiety. The type of anxiety that squeezed my chest and my lungs and made it hard to breathe. Every inch of my neighbourhood haunted me. Every good memory with Liv was tainted by the living nightmare of losing her.
Don’t get me wrong, moving to a new city didn’t make my grief magically disappear, but I did feel slightly more at ease knowing I was 63 kilometres away from where my best friend’s life was taken.
I’ve lived in Guelph for almost two years now and still, the grief has yet to subside. It’s hard sometimes to be away from everything I once knew, but this is for the best. I’m surrounded by really great people here and it’s less tiresome living in a neighbourhood with no trauma attached to it.
I wish I could say I’m excited for the next few years of my life, but truth be told, I’m terrified. I’m scared to move forward and keep living a life without Liv in it. I’m scared that the world keeps turning and she’s not here.
But alas, I’ll put on my big girl pants and keep going. I'll continue finding light in the darkest of days. As the wise Hannah Montana once said, "You'll always find your way back home." One day I'll find my way back. One day.
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