A second chance

  • Published
  • By Airman 1st Class Ryan Conroy
  • 31st Fighter Wing Public Affairs
AVIANO AIR BASE, Italy --  "Hey babe, I've got some really hard news you need to hear," she said, choking back tears on the phone. "Remember the cops on Spring Street last night? It was Henry. He's gone. I'm so sorry."

Even four years later, my ex-girlfriend's words still echo throughout my head relentlessly and it brings me back to that night.

Henry Dang was my best friend throughout my tenure at Windsor Locks High School.  We met during my awkward transition into a new school and a new place at the end of my sophomore year.

We were the kids no one talked to that year. I was awkward and had a bad attitude. He was the short, nerdy Asian kid dating one of my close friends. We met in detention. He was there for making jokes in class. I was there because I was laughing too loudly at them.

From that point on, we were inseparable. We would play basketball until the sun went down and then try to keep playing in the dark. We would change class schedules with people to be in the same classes and he was over at my house so much my mom called him her adopted son.

Oct. 29, 2010, was supposed to be a calm and relaxing Friday night in Connecticut, but it now remains painfully paralyzed within my memories forever.

An off-duty police officer spent the night drinking with friends at a bar across town.

Driving 35 mph over the speed limit on a dimly-lit road at 11 p.m., the man stuck Henry while he was riding his bike home from a friend's house. Henry's short-lived life was brought to a grinding halt and in a way -- so was mine.

The next week came and went in an emotionally-numbing blur. My friends, family and girlfriend all tried to console me and tell me things were alright, but nothing felt alright. The funeral for a 15 year old didn't feel alright. The way his mother and sister cried in my arms didn't feel alright. And the fact I would never see Henry again definitely didn't feel alright.

I fell into a deep depression that year.

The feeling was crushing. I felt alone. Nothing mattered and I didn't care about anything I did before. 

The depression took its toll on my life. My girlfriend left me, I lost a lot of friends and I almost flunked out of high school because I just couldn't make it there every day.

I finally pulled myself out of my pity party after graduation with the help of close friends and family. They helped me realize that that life was moving on -- with or without me.

Soon after, I joined the Air Force for an opportunity to succeed and because I needed to get out of a town that was a sobering reminder of the pain I felt and the friend I lost.

The Air Force gave me an opportunity to recreate myself in a positive atmosphere. Instead of a lazy student, I was given responsibilities and consequences that more than motivated me to excel.

I'd like to think that I grew into a leader with a hard-working mentality. My first year in the Air Force, I nearly graduated a difficult technical school with honors, adjusted to a new workplace and moved to a new country. I earned several awards for my photojournalism at the major command and Air Force level and eventually, didn't even recognize myself in the mirror.

All of these things would have never been obtainable without the absolutely mind-blowing motivation and concern I received from my newfound Air Force family. I was mentored by those in my office with more experience than me and the friendships I gained helped me maintain a level head.

Oct. 29 will remain in my thoughts for the rest of my life, but now I can shed a little positive light on it. Henry and the Air Force helped me shed my old skin and grow into someone I can be proud of and that someone my parents will be happy to boast about. 

I'm glad I never gave up and those who cared about me encouraged me to push forward. I owe them my life. They gave me my second chance and I am eternally grateful.

Writer's note: For those suffering with depression, please seek out the appropriate channels. Talk to those you trust and encourage those you see suffering to speak to a chaplain, a supervisor or military and family life consultant. Give yourself a second chance and turn it all around.