My Annual Plea to NOT drink and drive!

“O wonder! How many goodly creatures are there here! How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world! That has such people in’t!” 

Miranda’s Speech from “The Tempest,” Act V, Scene I by William Shakespeare


I believe in the basic goodness of people. Truly, I do. I believe that within each one of us lies the drive to do the right thing, to place the needs of others before our own; to step in and lend a helping hand to those in need. Sometimes this force lies dormant for the span of an entire life, never finding a situation that calls it into the fore, but when circumstances arise, this compulsion to do right cause the most milquetoast of us to stand tall and do the most amazing things.

My mother taught me this and she lived this philosophy.

With that said, I feel the need to share the following with the hope that it can save one life and many people the accompanying and unending sorrow.

On June 1, 1984, a drunk driver hit a car containing three members of my family: my maternal grandfather, my mother and my daughter.

The paramedics reported that my mother, grandfather and the drunk driver were DOA. My daughter survived. They transported the unconscious six-year old to the hospital in critical condition. She regained consciousness only once. She was in pain and frightened by the intubation tube that prevented her from speaking, but when our gaze met, I saw awareness in her beautiful sapphire eyes. My baby looked back at me and she knew me. Then her eyelids slid closed, never to open again. Just as quietly as she lived, my baby silently slipped into a coma and there was nothing I could do to help her.

On April 24, 1978 at 1:52 a.m., she came into this world and on June 8, 1984 at 10:24 a.m., she left it.

There is no closure. This is a pain that never ends. A sadness that becomes more intense with the passing of years. It just gets easier to hide from the living that walk around me. But, it is there, hiding not so deeply inside me. Every day, the pain consumes a little bit more of me and after 33 years, I cannot help but wonder how much of my heart remains.



 Memorial Photo



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