by Jane Smith

Created on: April 30, 2008   Last Updated: October 31, 2008

It haunts me even today, years later. Kathy had volunteered to drive a thoroughly drunk acquaintance home late one evening, so that he would be alright. She had just dropped him off and was a few blocks from home, stopped at a light, when a luxury sports car slammed into her car nearly head-on. Although the sturdy sports car did not sustain much damage, Kathy's little family car burst into flames. Kathy was burned alive, while her family, not knowing that it was she, watched the flames from their window. One of her daughters felt a chill as it occurred to her that her mother ought to have arrived by now.

When they removed her body from the wreckage, Kathy was charred from head to toe.

I want you to know her. She was an pretty and angelic lady, always welcoming, graceful, and generous. Her ready, large, warm, sweet smile was infectious. She loved her family and friends, deeply. "In The Arms of the Angels" had been her favorite song. It became her epitaph. I cannot help but to cry whenever I hear it, now. I cry whenever I think of her. I cry alot these days.

The case is, still, pending in court. A teenager, driving his father's sports car at a high rate of speed, was quite drunk, speeding, and out on the town, that night. His life has changed.

I have learned, since, that there are many victims of drunk driving.

Kathy was the most obvious victim. Yet, her children had to raise one another, put one another through high school and college, and solve the spiritual riddle of "Why, God?" "Mom, I need for you to hug me", was her daughters memorial request.

The man whom Kathy had driven home that night loved her, as we all did, and knew that she would not have been in that particular location had he not been drunk that evening. Although I have not seen him drunk, since, there is a deep sorrow which fills his soul. He knows that he can do nothing to bring her back, so there is no resolution for him.

I, myself, feel that, maybe, just maybe, she would not have been in that location at that time if only I had been there that night, as I had told her that I would; "a Presbyterian's word is his promise", yet, for some reason, I decided not to go out that evening. I had seen her at a friend's funeral earlier in the day. As she was leaving, we hugged, said "I love you", and, then, she put her hand firmly on my shoulder for a moment, held me tightly, and said, "I will see you later." I, still, feel her hand on my shoulder. I often find myself wanting to grab her hand from my shoulder and yell, "No, Kath! Don't go!"

Recently, I served as a juror for a young man who had been arrested for a criminal DUI by officers which had far over-reached their authority in a variety of ways. As such, objectively speaking, the man who had had 3 beers should have been released on any, or all, of 14 significant technicalities. However, my fellow jurors, all, seemed to know some victim of drunk driving and, therefore, had no mercy, convicting him without reviewing the facts of the case, just so that they could teach him a lesson and be released from duty, without further adieu. Case closed.

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