Patricia Ann Buensch died this past week at the age of 68. She passed quietly without much fanfare, but there was a time when she was somewhat famous.

Pat was featured in the 1963 Wayland High School yearbook. Her picture appeared separate from those of her classmates. Written below her photo was the following:

“One of the outstanding members of the sophomore class, Pat Buensch, was forced to drop out of the class for the remainder of the year. On November 17, 1962, Pat was involved in a serious auto accident, which put her in a hospital bed, where she still is at the time this is written. To help Pat pass the long hours, her class­mates collected nickels and dimes and on January 29, 1963, presen­ted her with a 19-inch portable television and stand. Pat may miss the   school year, but she will not lose the friends she has made dur­ing the two years she has been at Wayland.”

Despite this fame and outpouring of love, Pat Buensch seemed to fade into an eerie nothingness that she must have felt over the ensuing years. Though I know not the details about what occurred in her personal life afterward, I do know some things about her and I have to confront my own shortcomings as a compassionate human being as a result.

Besides the notice that appeared in the 1963 yearbook, I knew nothing about her until she appeared in my English class in my senior year. It was rare for me to recall her ever uttering a word. Pat was extremely quiet, perhaps self-conscious. On a few occasions I would notice she was laughing over something in which class clowns such as Pete Baar and I were entertaining students.

The only time I recall her speaking was when she asked if I would be so kind as to give her one of my senior pictures. I agreed, but then never delivered. I suppose it wasn’t important to me. More honestly, I fear I consistently avoided contact and conversation with Pat Buensch because she had suffered the terrible misfortune of having to undergo a lot of physical therapy and facial reconstruction after her horrible traffic accident that forever changed her life.

Pat Buensch somehow had become someone I avoided, someone I looked past and didn’t want to see. She really was the first handicapped person I knew and I was uncomfortable in her presence.

What could I ever say to her? Should I treat her like nothing had ever happened to her? Should I summon the courage to ask her how she’s holding up under such difficult circumstances? Could I ever interact with her without her sensing my pity, which I am certain she didn’t want?

My educated guess is that Pat Buensch just wanted to be treated like everybody else. I don’t think she wanted to be ignored, feared or pitied. But I don’t think she received what she wanted.

I saw her one more time at the United Church of Wayland during a service several years ago, and I finally had the guts to walk over to her and say, “Hi, Pat. I’m Dave Young.”

She replied, “I know who you are.”

At first I thought she might then lash out at me rightly for my past callous indifference to her as a human being who deserved better. She didn’t. Though I detected a hint of bitterness and sarcasm in her voice when she talked about some things, she didn’t seem at all angry at the world and about how she had been dealt a lousy hand in one fateful night in November 1962.

My understanding is that she spent a lifetime enduring pain, physical therapy and a lot of pitiful looks from people who wondered what had happened to her.

She lasted 68 years on this planet, about 53 after a traffic accident that changed her life, and not for the better. Hers is a story that doesn’t seem to have a happy ending.

Because I never had the guts to tell her while she was alive, I’ll take the coward’s way out and say now that I am so sorry that Pat Buensch’s normal life was taken from her. May she rest in peace.

PHOTOS: Pat Buensch in 1962   Pat Buensch in 1966   Pat Buensch’s obituary photo