It was approximately 8:45 pm, Wes and I were getting ready to call
it a night since Wes has to wake up at 4:30am to go to work each morning.
We weren't worried that the kids were late getting home, because usually
they stop at Dairy Queen after Karen gets off her job, when suddenly the
phone rings.
Wes picked up the phone and I saw his face pale, I asked
what was wrong and he said that there has been an accident and all he
was told is that Doug was OK and Karen was unconscious, they were taken to
University Hospital of New Mexico, at the
Trauma Center. The minute I heard UNM Hospital I knew something was
wrong, you see, Rio Rancho has a fine hospital in the area, only something dreadful
would go to UNM Hospital. I started shaking like a leaf and we called our neighbor
and friend to drive us there, such was our fear.
When we got there we asked about our kids at the reception window, and were told to wait.
A Social Worker came out and asked us for the names of the children and I got this
horrible feeling when I asked: "Are they alive?" and her answer was they haven't identified the
victims yet. When I heard the word "IDENTIFY" I knew one or both were dead.
I blacked out falling hard onto the tile floor and vaguely remembered
my husband shaking me and blowing into my face. I vaguely remember being taken inside the
hospital, on a gourney and being in a cubicle of a room.
I must have come to reality
when this thin female doctor tells us that Doug is alive but Karen has passed away.
My God, I felt my whole soul tear into pieces as I started screaming at the top of my lungs.
The screams couldn't stop to give way to tears, I felt I was dying a million times such was
the pain.
Only when the same doctor, my husband tells me, came with a tray with a shot of
tranquilizers which was given to me without my knowledge, I quieted down. Every thing was a blur,
I hardly recall one moment after another in the surge of the following events.
I was in shock and went through the events in a robot like motion.
The only things I remember was the sight of my son in the emergency room
with blood all over his chest and face and the doctor telling us the extent
of his injuries. Doug said only a few words, which broke my heart.
"Mom it was not my fault, Is Karen OK?" I lied, and said she was Ok.
I knew if I told him she died, he may not have survived the long
urgent surgery that same night.
We were ushered out and they took
us to see our daughter, it was then that I burst into tears. I will never forget
this image, and until this day I have nightmares about seeing my child
only fifteen years old laying on a table, wrapped in a white blanket
with her beautiful long golden brown hair fanned out around her head,
eyes closed and still with tubes hanging from her mouth. I touched her,
and she was so cold..I begged the people in there with us to please bring
more blankets because she hated being cold. I remember the tears silently
rolling on my face as I caressed her hands, her hair, told her how much
I loved her and said good bye.
I guess I must have drifted back into my world of shock
because I do not remember the pastor that prayed with us and the trip back home,
where we were up all night calling our family back in Florida and hearing them
scream their anguish over the phone.
I barely remember my dear friends making every thing easier on us by picking
up members of the family at the airport, bringing in food and even keeping
everything so neat and clean. All I can say is thank you.
Next morning we rushed to the hospital, Doug had six hours of surgery and was in intensive
care. A metal rod was inserted in his right femur, from the pelvis to his knee
and as he recovered from the anesthesia all he asked..."Is Karen OK?"
Again I lied as I held his hand, but later on with the help of a counselor,
I told him the truth.
He silently took in the news, not a tear came down, he,
I guess, went into a state of denial with the help of the morphine that kept him
asleep most of the time.
I truly don't know how my husband was able to keep his strength for me,
I was close to being a zombie just watching things unfold around me, without
comprehending or remembering all that was taking place.
Next thing I remember was the funeral services which again I thank the director
for arranging everything for us. Another memory that breaks me into pieces
is seeing my daughter in the coffin, that body in there looked so sad and almost like a wax museum
figure, it is true that one's soul is what makes us look happy and beautiful.
That was simply a shell of Karen and once again I couldn't control
myself, I cried a river of tears, that will never, for as long as I live, stop flowing.
Doug, my poor son made sure that even in pain he made his wishes heard, which was that
he would come home for the funeral and go back on monday for more surgery.
Doug wanted to see his sister one last time, and as he was wheeled on his wheelchair
to Karen's coffin, that's when he fell apart and started babbling how he loves her and how
she was his best friend. The funeral parlor was full beyond capacity, I heard that close
to a thousand people showed up, friends, teachers, family and all of those she has touched
their lives with her kindness and her community services.
For the next few days our home was full of Karen's and Doug's friends,
giving us company and comfort while Doug was undergoing more surgery. I am
very thankful for my dear friend Pam who sacrificed her work and her family
to stay close by us to help.
You may question why I decided to write about our pain,
the reason is that, any parent can become victims of a drugged or drunk driver,
not only a loved one dies but your whole life is destroyed. There is no going on,
you are always grieving your child. True, one can continue living, working and
going through the motions of life, but life has changed forever.
All I ask of whomever reads this, is that you remember that no one is safe from a
drunk driver and that only you, registered voters can make a difference.
Make your voices heard and bring out this issue when the politicians lies about
what they can do for us, tax payers. Together, we can make a difference, so the next
dreadful phone call won't hit your home.
Thank You. |
