Drunk Driving Prevention discussion

I'm glad I was asked to join this group. My youngest sister was killed by a drunk driver the day after New Year's in 1981. She was eight years old. Her best friend had spent the night. They were crossing the sleepy little street in front of our house in a fancy suburb of Chicago.
Two in the afternoon, not cloudy, no snow or ice, no bright sun: My sister Suzanne and her friend Cate crossed on a green light and suddenly Cate's hand was no longer holding my sister's. A speeding white coupe propelled Suzanne's body 100 feet away. I didn't see this; it was told to me. I arrived home and noticed the white car smashed into a nearby tree. The house was empty, except that my mother in her panic had turned the TV volume all the way up instead of off.
A neighbor telephoned and asked what was happening. She said I should phone the hospital. The hospital had no record that anyone in my family was there. The receptionist said I must be mistaken. But I knew I was not. In fact, I'm almost certain I already knew she had died. I had been keenly aware of an impending tragedy all day--for no real reason.
After I hung up with a hospital one of my mother's friends phoned and offered to drive me to the hospital, where I was escorted to a special, small waiting room where my mother and father and brother were waiting and weeping. The doctors were "working on her."
No official word yet but I was trembling uncontrollably. After a while a surgeon came in and my mother asked if Suzanne would be paralyzed, would she be able to speak...those kinds of questions. The woman surgeon, who was cool and professional as I suppose was necessary, told my mother those questions were "inappropriate." Chastened, my mother said she was sorry and "Tell me what questions are appropriate." She did not say this sarcastically, although we're a sarcastic family. But in such dire circumstances my mother's words were sincere.
"We'll discuss that later," the surgeon said.
We remained at that hospital until well after midnight but in the middle of sudden, incomprehensible loss, time becomes superfluous--really superfluous. So I have no idea how many minutes or hours had passed between my mother's inappropriate questions and two other surgeons arriving in the small confessional-type room, set aside for families like ours, to say Suzanne "was with God."
My parents have always been and still are devout Roman Catholics. To them, those words were not wrong.
Yet, that adage about "time healing all wounds?" It may hold some truth for some people. In my family, I usually feel and think differently from the rest--but not about time and healing. The longer we've lived without Suzanne, the more we miss her. Some days and years and anniversaries are harder than others. And of course the ravaging grief and constant fear and desperation we felt in the immediate aftermath, which lasted for us approximately two years, has mostly subsided. But we're a different, sadder family because Suzanne was killed so fast and incomprehensibly. (I'm sure watching helplessly as a child you love suffers a long incurable illness is no easier, but the dumbfounding and previously unthinkable moment where my sister's alive--and half a beat later--dead is what I've experienced of a child dying.)
Our lives are sadder and smaller without Suzanne and always will be.
The man who killed her reportedly never drove a car again. I'm not sure if he ever drank alcohol again or not. He was guilty and had to live with that guilt. My father, a fierce M&A attorney, could not bring himself to press charges. The man owned the town's country club but that wouldn't have fazed my father. A lifelong fighter, he was too devastated to fight when winning was impossible. He said he would fight without cease if it would bring her back, but it wouldn't. Since the man was phoning our family at three a.m. and crying about his remorse(which does not help a grieving family; if you've accidentally killed someone, please look elsewhere for counseling), we doubted he would kill again the same way.
My father continued working but never took legal battles as seriously again, although he continued to be successful due to how hard he worked and big business in that era.
Time allowed us to continue with our lives, that's undeniable. It's just that our lives are so much emptier.
People have criticized us and said "Get over it!" (Not that we often discuss it.) My parents still drink quite a bit as does my sister and brother. None of us feels indignant or self-righteous. The loss was beyond anger. Losing a child like that is too overwhelming to be soothed by egotism. So it's only a very few people who even know how diminished we feel, and it's those few who criticize us. Although it's now been so long that nobody refers to the incident and the relatives or dear friends who found our unhappiness so irksome are mostly gone.
We hang on to our sense of loss because it's all that's left to us. Our loss, our grief, and our shared love and recollections of a girl who lived eight years and four months.

Thanks for sharing Kathleen. I'm terribly sorry for the loss of your sister.

I admire your father's self-awareness and wisdom to not fight during a time of grief.

My book "Breakthrough For A Broken Heart" was written when I went through my personal ground zero emotionally and may help those grieving.

Blessings,

Paul

www.PaulFDavis.com