> ADDITIONAL STORIES 
In the early morning hours of November 19, 2000, every mother's nightmare came true for me. My 18 year old daughter, Stacey, was killed by a drunk driver. My life was permanently and drastically changed. Nothing will ever be the same. Saturday, November 18, 2000 was an ordinary day. Stacey was excited and anxious about how busy her shift as a checker at Dillons would be since it was the weekend before Thanksgiving. We spent the morning and early afternoon together and then she prepared to go to work. She quizzed me about how she looked, gave me a hug and told me that she loved me - then off she went. I knew that after she got off work she would be going out with her boyfriend. Her curfew was 1:00 a.m. It was my habit to stay up until my girls got home, so this evening after watching a movie on TV, Stacey's dad went to bed and I went downstairs to our computer room to pass the time until she would be home. At 12:50 a.m. the phone rang and I knew it would be Stace. "Mom, pleeeeese can I have a little more time?" She told me they were playing monopoly. I remember saying, "Stace, monopoly takes all night," and she said, "we're playing the short version." I told her she could have more time, but that I worried about her when she wasn't home. She said, "I know, Mom - I love you." If I had had even the slightest indication that would be the last time I ever heard those words from her, I would never have let her stay. I continued to mess around on the computer until about 1:30 when I went upstairs and waited for her. We have a bay window in the front of our house and I sat there and waited and watched for her. I walked the floor. We live on a dead-end street and every time I saw car lights, I assumed it would be her and when they weren't, I became more and more concerned. I lost track of time so I don't really know when it was that I tried to call her cell phone. I got her voice mail and left her a message saying "Okay, kid - you're pushing it. It's time you were home." Usually she would call me right back, but this time she didn't. I continued to walk the floor - to worry - to pray. Then I called her cell phone again - still no answer. This time I just said "Stacey, where are you?" I decided that I was going to go look for her, so I put my shoes on, and went to get my coat - then decided that was really a stupid idea. She had her cell phone. If she had a problem, she would call me. I remember that I was freezing, so I decided that I would go lay in my bed and wait. Surely, if I laid down, she would come. I took the phone to bed with me in case she called. I was awakened by the doorbell - I have no idea what time it was. I ran to the door, opened it, and yelled out "Where is she?" Two attorneys from the District Attorney's Office where I work and a major with the Sheriff's Department came into my home. They told me that Stacey had been killed. She had been run over by a truck with 3 young men in it. The driver was drunk, driving on the wrong side of the road, with his headlights off, at a speed of over 90 mph. I remember screaming "No - no - no" as I ran back down the hallway to get my husband. Our world had fallen apart. I knew instantly that it would never be the same. I begged them to take me to her, they pleaded with me not to make them. That big 4 x 4 Chevy truck had literally ran over the top of her little 86 Honda Accord. Stacey was so brutally damaged that they couldn't even identify who she was from her driver's license photo. When I continued to insist that they had to take me to her, they tried to tell me that I did not want to remember her this awful way. They pointed to her picture and begged me to remember her like that. These were people who I worked with, who were trying to protect me from the horror of what I would see. They had been at the scene of the wreck and had been devastated themselves by what they had seen. I agonized over whether I should listen to them or if I should see her body. How could I know that it was really her if I didn't? How could I bury my baby without holding her one more time? And so, I finally gave in to them and didn't make them take me to where her body was. I never saw her again. I was not able to hold her, to cry with her, to tell her goodbye. I will never, ever, get over that. The next 4 days were very hard. Stacey's dad was in an extreme state of shock - he could barely function. I had to make so many decisions by myself. Notifying family members, making funeral arrangements, dealing with the mortuary, selecting a casket. Choosing a burial place for my daughter was something that I had never thought about. It was an agonizing experience. We drove around that cemetery time and time again looking for the spot where my daughter's body would rest. I couldn't make the decision. Then, I had a memory of taking my girls to visit a cemetery when Stacey was only 4 years old. We had walked through the cemetery, looking over the headstones, and Stacey had remarked "When I die, I want to be buried under a tree on a hill." Now, that thought was like she was reminding me of her wish, and soon after, I found the perfect place - on a hill and under a tree. Stacey's funeral was the day before Thanksgiving. The church was filled, people were even standing. At the Rosary the night before, the church had also been full. There were so many young people there, her classmates, her friends, and even people that I didn't even know. I walked through that funeral in a haze. I'm not sure that I even remember it. After the burial, we went home and tried to figure out how we were going to go on without Stacey. I was in a state of shock for weeks and then reality set in and I felt a pain like I had never known. A pain that even over time still staggers me. The 23 year old guy driving the truck was charged with Second Degree Murder for Stacey's death and for the death of one of his passengers. He maintained that he was not the one who had been driving the truck. Stacey's dad, her sister, and I, along with her grandmother, her godmother, her aunts, and several friends had to go through a week-long trial listening to all the evidence and details. Hearing the 911 tape was horrifying. Reality definitely set in as I listened to the woman who had discovered Stacey's body scream and cry. The autopsy report was profound. Nearly every bone in Stacey's face was broken or crushed; the top half of her head was sliced off; her brain was missing; her left eye was missing; her whole body was covered with lacerations, contusions, and abrasions; her pelvis was broken, some of her ribs were broken; her left wrist and right forearm were broken; her hips and thighs were broken; she had lacerations of the liver and spleen. This was more than any mother should have to hear. The jury took three days before they found him guilty of Involuntary Manslaughter While Under the Influence of Alcohol for both deaths. The judge sentenced him to 43 months for Stacey's death and 43 months for his friend's death - so he got 86 months for killing two people. At the sentencing, I was sure that he would tell us that he was sorry, but he didn't. It's hard for me to accept that a person can cause the death of two people and not show any remorse for what he had done. After the trial, I was glad that it was over. I was glad that someone had been found responsible for the crime. But I quickly realized that it really didn't matter much - Stacey was still gone. Nothing was going to bring her back. How do I explain the way my daughter's tragic and senseless death has affected me? It is not possible. My child is gone. I have lost a part of myself, a very vibrant part of my life. There is a hole in my heart that will never heal. Nothing is quite the same, the sun isn't quite as bright; the song is gone from my heart, and the joy in my life is diminished. I miss my daughter, I grieve for her still. I have been denied her joyful companionship and I resent it. I am angry at the driver for his stupid actions; for his total lack of concern for my daughter's life. At first, I felt like I couldn't cry, even though I know I did. Most of the time, I felt like I couldn't breathe, like I was being crushed,- as if an elephant were sitting on my chest. Sometimes it was so heavy. I had to be the strong one; I had to take care of everyone else, when what I really wanted to do was curl up in a ball and make it all go away. At night, I could only sleep for a short period of time and then that darn elephant would get so heavy, I would get up and wander through the house trying to understand that this was all real and that Stacey was never going to come back. My attention span was so short, I couldn't concentrate on anything. There were times I actually thought I was going crazy. Stacey's death has been especially hard for her dad. One year before she was killed, he received a heart transplant. He couldn't accept why he had been granted new life and her young life had been ripped away. We wanted to donate her organs but were unable to do so. Stacey's dad had a very difficult time with the trial. He was unable to remain in the courtroom for parts of the trial. He couldn't look at the pictures of Stace or hear the details of her death. He has pretty much buried his thoughts inside and grieves silently. He still has a very difficult time listening to conversations about Stacey. At Christmas or other family gatherings, when Stacey comes into a conversation, he will often just leave the room. Stacey's older sister, Amy, was angry, extremely angry, for a very long time and so terribly sad and afraid of the future without her sister. Amy will never be in her sister's wedding - she'll never be a loving aunt to her sister's kids. All their plans for the future of marrying and raising their families together have been destroyed. Stacey was my daughter and of course I think she was a very special person. She was loving and kind; she cared about everyone. She was a peacemaker, she hated to see anyone unhappy or crying. She had a contagious giggle - a beautiful smile. She was a neat kid, a giggling, laughing, smiling kid. Stacey loved her friends and they loved her in return and respected her. Following her death, many of her friends and acquaintances would say that she was the one that they could talk to; that she was the one they turned to when they were down, that she was the one who would really listen. She was a devoted friend, always willing and ready to help. Stacey was very involved in Students Against Drunk Driving at Valley Center High School. She was not just a member of SADD, but a two-year officer of the club. It was an issue that was very important to her. She joined the organization in her sophomore year after she decided to quit playing sports. She chose that group because she wanted to make a difference. She felt a strong need to change the problems of drinking and driving among her peers and in society. And yet, she died at the hands of a drunk "out for a good time." Isn't it ironic that one so involved in changing a bad behavior was the victim of that same bad behavior? They say that time heals and I hope it does, but I know it's going to take a long, long time. I still miss my daughter; I always will. I still wish this horrid thing had not happened to her. She is in my heart and my thoughts always. I see her in the sunshine, the flowers, in a song, and sometimes even in blue M & Ms. One day was particularly tough for me. I was pretty much wallowing in my pain and grief. I just couldn't get myself together. Eventually, I went down to the candy machines and got a bag of M & Ms. (After all, when all else fails, we eat, don't we?) The first three M&Ms out of the bag were red, green, and yellow. The rest of the M & Ms were blue. I couldn't believe my eyes and I recall saying, "Okay, okay - I'll get my act together." And my mood changed. You see - Stacey's screenname was StaceyBlueM&M. |
