When the ambulances arrived, they rushed me and the passengers from the other car to the hospital. They took my husband to the county medical examiner’s office. In a few hours my daughters were phoned and told about their father’s death and my injuries. They hurried to the hospital, fearful that they might lose both parents. My face was so badly disfigured they could recognize me only by my wedding ring. I gave Jeanne, 18, my power of attorney and asked her to raise her 14-year-old sister, Jessica, if I died. She had to deal with moving her dad’s body from the coroner’s office; she had to select a funeral home; she had to ask me what I wanted done with her father’s remains.
The car that killed my husband was driven by an uninsured driver with a suspended license-suspended after an alcohol-related violation. For this earlier offense, the 38-year-old man was found guilty of reckless driving and had his drunk-driving charge dismissed. The judge suspended his driver’s license, handed down a 90-day suspended jail sentence, imposed a $250 fine and ordered him to complete an alcohol-awareness course. The judge ordered that the driver commit no further violations of the law for 12 months. Yet 56 days later, that very driver killed my husband and almost killed me. He had a blood-alcohol count of .17. Had the driver served 90 days in jail, Bob would be alive.
Doctors operated on me seven times in 10 months. I had facial reconstruction, oral surgery, orthopedic surgery and two operations to find and repair internal injuries. I spent a month in the trauma unit. Later, I underwent surgery for the removal of a steel rod in my leg. My daughters and parents took care of me for several months while I regained strength. I did what parenting I could and tried to help the girls deal with their grief. I had to heal my body, raise my family, hire an attorney and prod a sluggish criminal-justice system to prosecute the offender.
Little did I know that my real battle had only begun. When I contacted my medical- and auto-insurance companies, I learned that a victim’s ordeal can last much longer than the physical pain. Neither company would process claims until it knew the complete details of the other’s coverage. Meanwhile, medical and other bills went unpaid. Uninsured drivers are not burdened with requests for documentation and bickering over fine print, but I was immersed in depressing details. While I was recuperating in bed I had to deal with dunning phone calls demanding payment. The auto-insurance company wanted essays on the quality of our marriage, my husband’s parenting skills, income verification, family budget and a letter from our family doctor regarding my husband’s general health. No matter that our policy specifically covered just such an accident with no mention of these very personal questions. Yet I was helpless to prevent this invasion of my privacy.
I learned that victims have fewer rights than the accused. I was astounded to find that the county court was unaware the accused had disregarded the terms of his suspended sentence, and that a higher court, in a different area, had no knowledge of the other court’s ruling. I learned that a prosecutor can accept a guilty plea to vehicular homicide and, in return, no other vehicular-assault charges would be filed. An accused can remain free for a year or more while the process moves at a snail’s pace. Drunk drivers who cause a death should lose their driving privilege permanently, and it should be recorded nationally. Automotive insurance should be made compulsory by the federal government. Too many drivers are not solvent; they drive unsafe cars and can’t begin to pay for the consequences if they have an accident.
The driver who hit us was finally convicted of vehicular homicide and sentenced to 34 months in prison. His driver’s license was revoked for two years. But he can still get his license back after he leaves prison, provided he posts a $60,000 bond.
A year later, how are my daughters and I coping? There is a void in all of our lives that will never be filled. The girls will not have their father’s love, guidance and support. He will never again tutor them in math and science; nor will he see Jessica graduate from high school. Bob will not give his daughters away in marriage or hold his grandchildren. Bob and I will not grow old together. To suddenly be half of a couple is to feel half-whole. Not to have my friend, mentor, playmate, lover … words are inadequate to express the depth and dimension of such feelings. Nothing can compensate. Some of our friends find Bob’s death difficult to deal with, so they avoid me at a time when I most need their support.
This tragedy has affected us all deeply, but somehow life goes on. The girls have grown into early adulthood and are dealing with life’s realities bravely. I’m proud of them. Jessica just got her first driver’s license. She has a guarded, cautious approach to driving and knows that it is a privilege, not a right. Guests in my home are now offered nonalcoholic beverages. If alcohol is requested, it’s served in moderation and not to designated drivers.
I still feel victimized by a system that seems to give more rights to offenders than to victims. I feel unsafe sharing the roads with drivers awaiting court dates while they continue breaking the law. I lack confidence that public safety is upheld when drivers can ignore court sentences without automatic penalty. I also understand that change comes gradually. But the first step is public awareness through education and new legislation. Only then can we hope to change a culture that allows drunk drivers to keep on killing.
