Tears for My Friends

With today's blog I thought I would let someone else's words do the talking for me. There are no safety advice or tips in this message but the words are very powerful and they remind us that if we fail in our mission to keep our children safe, the consequences for us will go on for as long as we live.


Tears for My Friends
By Debbye Butler

I have a friend named Jeannette. She had a daughter and a son, until October 1986. Her daughter tested the odds of the effects of alcohol on her motor skills and judgment versus her knowledge about the roads with which she was so familiar.

The alcohol won.

Cindy never saw her 21st birthday. Jeannette, however, has to live through every one of her daughter’s candles-and-cake days — wondering what her daughter would look like now and what she would be doing with her promising life.

I have another buddy. His name is Bill. He is a devoted family man, and until a dreaded October night in 1992, he had two sons and a daughter. Now he has one son, one daughter, and 17 years of memories of a child who will never grow older. Bill, too, had to live the worst parental nightmare possible — a tired teenager with a set of car keys, a can of beer, and an invincible attitude on a late weekend night.

Both of my friends are incredibly loving people and responsible parents. They were looking forward to graduations, a son- or daughter-in-law, and grandchildren. But they have been cheated out of some of the best and most meaningful adventures in life, and nothing or no one can change that cruel, crushing reality.

Maybe you know someone who has lost a son or daughter because of this deadly combination. Maybe it’s a neighbor. Maybe it’s a friend. Maybe it’s someone in your own family. Maybe the children’s deaths were caused by another person who was driving while intoxicated.

It’s hard for me to believe I would ever have personally known one family — much less two — that would have to live through this gnawing, once-it-happens-it-never-goes-away pain. And it’s even more difficult to know what to say to them. Hugs help. But they’ll never replace the hugs from the children who are gone because of alcohol.

When Bill was saying goodbye to his son during the funeral, he did the most loving, courageous thing that any parent could do in a situation like this. With a lump in his throat that must have felt like the size of a softball, he looked out at the stunned young faces of his son’s high school friends. He said he never wanted to have to come to a funeral for this reason again. He said, “Don’t drink and drive.”

Bill told me later he hoped he didn’t sound like he was preaching. Well … I hope he did. I hope everyone listened. And I hope everyone remembers.

© Debbye Butler. Used with author’s permission. May not be reproduced in any fashion without author’s express permission. Debbye Butler is a freelance writer based in Indianapolis, Ind.