To Shed Some Light…

I have this posted on my personal facebook page and decided to share it with you, my audience here on BlogSpot.

There are a handful of you who know my circumstances, those of you who lived through it with me. There are many of you who know the basics, having heard a brief story from me or someone I know. But I realize most of you have no clue about the single event in my life that has created the woman I am today.

On the evening of August 24th, 1999, I returned home after hanging out with some friends. Something didn’t feel right and I asked to be brought home. Shortly after being dropped off, the phone rang. Mom answered. It was my uncle. There had been an accident. Grandma was hit by a car earlier that morning. Grandma had no identification on her person, so she was admitted as Jane Doe. When Grandma didn’t return home, Grandpa thought maybe she went to visit one of their sons. When she couldn’t be located, phone calls to police stations and hospitals ensued. Grandma was identified that evening by her keychain and wedding band.

We hit every red light on the way to Sutter Roseville, naturally. I remember not crying. I remember the Miss-Something-or-Other pageant being on the TV in the waiting room. Early the next morning, I remember someone entering the room saying that if we wanted to say our goodbyes, now would be the time. That’s when I lost it. I couldn’t see her like that. I didn’t want to remember my beautiful grandmother in this condition. I remember sitting by the window, sobbing. This couldn’t be happening to her, to me, to us. I remember being part of a prayer circle. It is August 25, 1999, I am 17 years old and my grandma is gone. I remember Dad driving me home. I remember lying on the floor – half in my room, half in the hallway – curled up with pictures, trying desperately to fall asleep. Hoping against all hope that I would wake up from this nightmare.

Here is what we know: Grandma was out for her morning walk. She had the right-of-way at a stoplighted intersection. A woman ran her red light and struck my grandmother at somewhere between 35-45mph. She claimed she was adjusting her sun visor, but our lawyers were able to disprove that claim. She also said she never drives that route, yet she chose to speed down a blind, curved hill.

Fast forward 24 hours. It’s the first day of my senior year in high school. I haven’t eaten. I’ve barely slept. I get to the classroom of one of my former teachers. I tell him what happened and that the news article was supposed to be in that day’s Roseville Press Tribune. We walk around campus trying to find a copy. I hear him telling school personnel my story and I feel empty inside.

When I saw the police report, I noticed it had the woman’s home address on it. I sat down and wrote a letter. I told her how wonderful Grandma was. I made a list of all the things Grandma would never be able to do again. I told her I was sure my grandma would forgive her but I didn’t know if I could. My best friend drove me to the post office and we dropped it in the mailbox. At that moment, I forgave her.

I didn’t care about school. I didn’t apply to colleges or for scholarships until the last minute. I wasn’t doing my homework. I didn’t care about my friends. I didn’t care about life. I wanted the pain to end. I had my wisdom teeth pulled and was prescribed Vicodin. I didn’t need the pills. Until one day at school, when I couldn’t get Grandma off my mind. I took a pill at lunch before Physics. It felt weird. My friend pointed something out in the textbook and I started bawling. What was happening to me? I stood up and left. I walked home. That was a bad experiment. Pills got tossed.

I had to tell my mom that I wrote the woman a letter, in case it came up at trial. That letter has since traveled far and wide to family across the world. It also found its way into the judge’s chambers. When the woman spoke at the criminal trial, she told of how she attempted suicide twice because of my letter. She told of how her 5 year old son asked if he could bring her to show-and-tell so his friends could meet someone who killed a person. My family wanted me to write another letter, this one to be read in court. When it came time, I couldn’t stand up. I couldn’t speak. But my first letter said enough. The judge thought so, too. Because he could feel the pain in my letter, he gave the woman the maximum sentence under the law.

None of us thought it was enough. The verdict was guilty of vehicular manslaughter without gross negligence. No jail time. She got probation and a suspended license. My grandma was gone and this woman got a slap on the wrist.

The fact that a life could be taken so quickly scared the hell out of me. After this, I had no desire to get my driver’s license. I didn’t want to be responsible for ending a life. I was fine being chauffeured around. So I waited until I was 21 to get a car and get my license, when I knew I needed to become independent. After the collision, something happened. I became hyper-sensitive to pedestrians. Which is why, if I’m a passenger in your car, you may still hear me say ‘person’, ‘pedestrian’, ‘walker’, ‘hi lady’ just to make sure they’re visible to you. Or you may notice me pressing the invisible brake pedal on my side of the car. This is also why I won’t jaywalk. This is why I say “I love you Grandma” and blow a kiss when I drive through the intersection of Rocky Ridge and Strauch/Professional in Roseville, CA.

So I am still pretty messed up. I have my good days and awesome memories – honey buns, chocolate chip cookies, Christmas morning and her Norwegian accent. And I have bad moments – moments that bring me back to August, 1999. And I live it all over again. It has been over 12 years. It’s an ongoing battle. And I’m never going to ‘get over it’. My family will never ‘get over it’.

My plea to you: Be completely aware, be completely there when you drive. A split second of your inattention can shatter lives. Just pay attention. Be there. No one should have to experience this sort of loss. No one.