Dear Elizabeth:

We never met. Or maybe we did, but neither of us knew. It doesn't matter either way. We didn't know each other. Still, you affected me in a way you never got to see, and I just wanted to tell you.

I didn't know the man who ran inside to tell us what had happened, either. Maybe he was a youth leader, or your father. But when he asked all of us to pray, I actually did, because of you.

And when I went back to the campsite, unsure if I would manage to keep myself composed enough to tell my friends what happened, I passed your body, and the paramedics coming in for you. I couldn't bring myself to look with more than a passing glance. I've seen people who were dying, but they all knew they were dying. You didn't. Or at least, you weren't ready to.

I've told people before--or maybe I've only thought it, and never specifically said--that it shouldn't take a tragedy to wake us up to our world. We should be living our lives regardless. And yet, all I could think about was how sudden the realization was that it could all end at any moment. That one little thing could shift and our lives could be ripped apart. Two of my friends had ridden the day before--I think it hit them the hardest, because it came with an added "It could have been me."

A few days afterwards, I started to check news sites for the details. I can't say why, but it was important to me to learn your name. I was surprised with some of the comments I came across in my search. Atheists accusing Christians of using you as some kind of martyr to the cause, and Christians shaken in their faith because their God took an innocent girl's life away. You caused quite a stir.

Still others were quite apathetic towards the whole thing, and why shouldn't they be? They didn't know you. I didn't know you. But I was there. I didn't see you fall but I saw you lying lifeless. Still alive, but lifeless. People die every day and no one person deserves any more recognition than another but the fact remains: I was there. It affected me. I think it surprised me just how much it affected me. Between seeing you there, and the quivering in the man's voice as he struggled just to pray aloud, I couldn't get you, this stranger I'd never met, out of my mind. To be honest, I'm still trying to figure out what you changed in me. Something's different. I can feel it. But I haven't worked out quite what it is yet.

I am not self-righteous enough to believe that this was some kind of sign, and I am not going to say, "Well, at least some good came of this." But a tragedy happened, and despite all the bad, I just want to know, you helped inspire me. And I'm sure I can't be the only one of the thousands of people who attended Lifest who feels this way.

Forgive me, Elizabeth, because I didn't write this letter anywhere near soon enough, and it's quite late and I'm losing focus. But this has been on my mind for some time now, and tonight I finally wrote you.

With love,

Christopher Bergum.