A Bright Light Has Gone Dark
It was a bright and clear morning - cool but not too cold. A tall, elderly woman went into her front yard to do some gardening. She sent her grandson back into the house to fetch something for her. From inside the house, her daughter and grandson heard one of the most terrifying sounds they would ever hear. Out front, a car careened around the corner, over the curb, and into the yard where the woman was gardening. The car hit the woman, killed her, smashed the front of the house, backed out of the yard, continued down the street, hit another person in their front yard, and kept going until the driver was caught some ways down the road.
The elderly woman in this story was my godmother. The bright and clear morning was today.
When my parents were first married, they traveled from my mother's home state to California to start their lives together. Shortly after relocating, they met John and Diana, a couple who were seeking renters for some of their rental properties. My parents were seeking a home to rent. Over the years, John and Diana became friends, mentors, confidents, and family. They became second parents to my mom and dad. They were there when my parents brought me home from the hospital. They babysat me while my parents went to the hospital to bring my sister home. They were there for every major milestone and many minor events.
I remember being a very young child and looking forward to Friday nights when John and Diana would come over to sit around my parents' kitchen table while my mom made giant bowls of popcorn and melted butter on the stove for everyone and I got to sit at the grown-up table and talk to grown-ups who cared what I had to say. Diana would tell my mother that I had piano fingers and she encouraged me when I wanted to learn to play. She would tell anyone who would listen about how I taught myself how to read at age 3, repeating the story of going to a local store with me where I would spell out the name of the store from the big neon sign over the door. Everything I wanted to do, Diana supported me wholeheartedly, unreservedly, proud and positive that I could accomplish anything I set my mind to, including the time I announced that I would be trekking across the country in an old converted school bus to a state I had never visited, with no job and no place to live waiting for me. She was my biggest supporter.
When her grandson was born and it was clear that he was developmentally challenged, Diana helped her daughter to raise her grandson, sitting up with him at night when he was sick, tirelessly working with him on his unique challenges, relentlessly offering her love and support to assist him in becoming the best person he could be. When her daughter had her own medical issues, Diana took up the slack to assist her daughter in addition to her assistance in raising her grandson. When her husband had a stroke, she nursed him, first from his bedside, and then from his chairside, until he was able to move around on his own again. When he eventually died, she continued caring for her family and managing their home and properties.
Diana was a singularly amazing woman. She loved unconditionally and without reservation. She gave of herself with seeming bottomless reserves. She helped the homeless, she cared for her family, she even helped her neighbor's children manage the estate when the neighbor passed away. And in one morning, all that was taken away by a single, careless decision. All that she gave the world is forever gone by a senseless, preventable action.
It's hard enough to lose a loved one to illness. Long and lingering or quick and unexpected, death from illness is painful and tragic. But it is nothing compared to losing a loved one due to another's stupidity.
When my sister called me today to tell me about Diana, she got my voicemail at first because I had poor cell reception when she called. I listened to my sister's flat voice tell me that she had bad news about Diana. I knew by that tone, the same one that notified me about John's death, and both of my grandfathers' deaths, and my aunt's death, that the bad news would be fatal. But Diana was a senior, whose husband had already died. She was not so ill that I was expecting her death, but she was also not so hale and hearty that the idea was a complete shock either. I felt sad, but I prepared myself to hear how she had a heart attack or a stroke or something of that nature. I railed against death claiming another loved one, but in a resigned sort of can't-escape-it way.
Then my sister called me again and this time the call got through. I walked outside of the restaurant where I was spending the afternoon with friends, to hear better. She began to tell the story much the way I started the story above. I braced myself to hear "and while she was gardening, she clutched her chest and fell over". Instead, what I heard was "a drunk driver hit her in the front yard."
I stood stock still and blinked several times, as if I had misheard and had to rewind and replay that last sentence in my mind. I think I gasped and then held my breath. But I'm not entirely sure. The idea of my godmother's body giving out on her is a horrible, saddening idea. But the knowledge that her life was taken from her was so much worse. Even the idea of having an accident, like slipping and falling, that's tragic but still pales in comparison to the reality of her murder.
Yes, I said murder. The sweetest, most caring, most supportive woman I've ever known was killed in cold blood for no better reason than some fucking bitch was drunk on a Sunday morning and thought she could operate a motor vehicle. There is no "good" reason for someone's death. But there are some reasons that are more senseless than others.
That ... woman ... made a choice. She chose to drink alcohol. She chose to get behind the wheel of a car. She believed that she had enough control of her faculties to safely drive. Alcohol impairs our ability to function at peak efficiency. Part of that impairment is the inability to accurately assess just how impaired our senses are. No one who has ever killed someone from drunk driving ever got behind the wheel and said "I'm really too drunk to drive and I'm likely to kill someone, but I'm going to do it anyway." Everyone who has ever taken the life of another person because they were too impaired to prevent it believed that they had better control than they did.
Anyone who has ever driven while under the influence of alcohol ... fuck you. Anyone who has ever said "Yes, I've been drinking, but I'm fine, I can drive" ... fuck you. How DARE those people treat the lives of others so callously. How DARE they put their own convenience ahead of someone else's life. Next time you choose to drink alcohol, I want you to think about this story. I want you to picture Diana, a tall, thin woman with short grey hair, who volunteers for her church and who donates food to the local homeless shelter and who cares for everyone she ever came in contact with. I want you to picture her daughters and her grandchildren who rely on her care and support. And I want you to feel overwhelming guilt. I don't want to hear "but I would never drive THAT impaired! I know my limits and I can tell." Bullshit. That's what that bitch who killed my godmother thought.
And that woman is damned lucky I live 3,000 miles away. Because if I ever meet her, I will beat her unconscious, then stand over her until she regains consciousness, and then beat the shit out of her again. I hope she's wracked with guilt for the rest of her life, and I hope she suffers. She can't possibly suffer enough to make up for what she did. The world is a darker place without Diana's light shining in it.
UPDATE
http://www.sjpd.org/iNews/viewPressRelease.asp?ID=569 - that bitch's mug shot
http://www.mercurynews.com/california/ci_17975135?nclick_check=1 - article about the murder
The elderly woman in this story was my godmother. The bright and clear morning was today.
When my parents were first married, they traveled from my mother's home state to California to start their lives together. Shortly after relocating, they met John and Diana, a couple who were seeking renters for some of their rental properties. My parents were seeking a home to rent. Over the years, John and Diana became friends, mentors, confidents, and family. They became second parents to my mom and dad. They were there when my parents brought me home from the hospital. They babysat me while my parents went to the hospital to bring my sister home. They were there for every major milestone and many minor events.
I remember being a very young child and looking forward to Friday nights when John and Diana would come over to sit around my parents' kitchen table while my mom made giant bowls of popcorn and melted butter on the stove for everyone and I got to sit at the grown-up table and talk to grown-ups who cared what I had to say. Diana would tell my mother that I had piano fingers and she encouraged me when I wanted to learn to play. She would tell anyone who would listen about how I taught myself how to read at age 3, repeating the story of going to a local store with me where I would spell out the name of the store from the big neon sign over the door. Everything I wanted to do, Diana supported me wholeheartedly, unreservedly, proud and positive that I could accomplish anything I set my mind to, including the time I announced that I would be trekking across the country in an old converted school bus to a state I had never visited, with no job and no place to live waiting for me. She was my biggest supporter.
When her grandson was born and it was clear that he was developmentally challenged, Diana helped her daughter to raise her grandson, sitting up with him at night when he was sick, tirelessly working with him on his unique challenges, relentlessly offering her love and support to assist him in becoming the best person he could be. When her daughter had her own medical issues, Diana took up the slack to assist her daughter in addition to her assistance in raising her grandson. When her husband had a stroke, she nursed him, first from his bedside, and then from his chairside, until he was able to move around on his own again. When he eventually died, she continued caring for her family and managing their home and properties.
Diana was a singularly amazing woman. She loved unconditionally and without reservation. She gave of herself with seeming bottomless reserves. She helped the homeless, she cared for her family, she even helped her neighbor's children manage the estate when the neighbor passed away. And in one morning, all that was taken away by a single, careless decision. All that she gave the world is forever gone by a senseless, preventable action.
It's hard enough to lose a loved one to illness. Long and lingering or quick and unexpected, death from illness is painful and tragic. But it is nothing compared to losing a loved one due to another's stupidity.
When my sister called me today to tell me about Diana, she got my voicemail at first because I had poor cell reception when she called. I listened to my sister's flat voice tell me that she had bad news about Diana. I knew by that tone, the same one that notified me about John's death, and both of my grandfathers' deaths, and my aunt's death, that the bad news would be fatal. But Diana was a senior, whose husband had already died. She was not so ill that I was expecting her death, but she was also not so hale and hearty that the idea was a complete shock either. I felt sad, but I prepared myself to hear how she had a heart attack or a stroke or something of that nature. I railed against death claiming another loved one, but in a resigned sort of can't-escape-it way.
Then my sister called me again and this time the call got through. I walked outside of the restaurant where I was spending the afternoon with friends, to hear better. She began to tell the story much the way I started the story above. I braced myself to hear "and while she was gardening, she clutched her chest and fell over". Instead, what I heard was "a drunk driver hit her in the front yard."
I stood stock still and blinked several times, as if I had misheard and had to rewind and replay that last sentence in my mind. I think I gasped and then held my breath. But I'm not entirely sure. The idea of my godmother's body giving out on her is a horrible, saddening idea. But the knowledge that her life was taken from her was so much worse. Even the idea of having an accident, like slipping and falling, that's tragic but still pales in comparison to the reality of her murder.
Yes, I said murder. The sweetest, most caring, most supportive woman I've ever known was killed in cold blood for no better reason than some fucking bitch was drunk on a Sunday morning and thought she could operate a motor vehicle. There is no "good" reason for someone's death. But there are some reasons that are more senseless than others.
That ... woman ... made a choice. She chose to drink alcohol. She chose to get behind the wheel of a car. She believed that she had enough control of her faculties to safely drive. Alcohol impairs our ability to function at peak efficiency. Part of that impairment is the inability to accurately assess just how impaired our senses are. No one who has ever killed someone from drunk driving ever got behind the wheel and said "I'm really too drunk to drive and I'm likely to kill someone, but I'm going to do it anyway." Everyone who has ever taken the life of another person because they were too impaired to prevent it believed that they had better control than they did.
Anyone who has ever driven while under the influence of alcohol ... fuck you. Anyone who has ever said "Yes, I've been drinking, but I'm fine, I can drive" ... fuck you. How DARE those people treat the lives of others so callously. How DARE they put their own convenience ahead of someone else's life. Next time you choose to drink alcohol, I want you to think about this story. I want you to picture Diana, a tall, thin woman with short grey hair, who volunteers for her church and who donates food to the local homeless shelter and who cares for everyone she ever came in contact with. I want you to picture her daughters and her grandchildren who rely on her care and support. And I want you to feel overwhelming guilt. I don't want to hear "but I would never drive THAT impaired! I know my limits and I can tell." Bullshit. That's what that bitch who killed my godmother thought.
And that woman is damned lucky I live 3,000 miles away. Because if I ever meet her, I will beat her unconscious, then stand over her until she regains consciousness, and then beat the shit out of her again. I hope she's wracked with guilt for the rest of her life, and I hope she suffers. She can't possibly suffer enough to make up for what she did. The world is a darker place without Diana's light shining in it.
UPDATE
http://www.sjpd.org/iNews/viewPressRelease.asp?ID=569 - that bitch's mug shot
http://www.mercurynews.com/california/ci_17975135?nclick_check=1 - article about the murder