The final nail in the coffin, literally

Published Dec. 2, 2009
By Tech. Sgt. Denise Johnson
Joint Base McGuire-Dix-Lakehurst Public Affairs

JOINT BASE MCGUIRE-DIX-LAKEHURST, N.J. -- Irony abounds - in the midst of celebrating the Year of the Air Force Family (here at our joint base its the Year of the Military Family), we started off the fiscal year with a sharp spike in vehicle-related fatalities. A sad note on so many levels ...

This trend, which is being widely addressed, has inspired me to share the below personal story. My hope is to make a difference in at least one person's life.

In June of my 5th summer I awoke to an empty room and the strange buzz of conversation coming from downstairs. My older sister - by 14 months - was not in her bed. I padded out of my room and through my three-year-old brother's empty room and made my way to the top of the stairs. The voices got louder. I climbed up onto the banister and made my typical grand entrance as I slid my way to the first floor.

The rest of what I remember that day is sporadic and becomes a blur. I don't think anyone noticed my grace and poise as I made my dismount ... I made my way through a crowd of people. I remember brushing through a forest of hands, seeing shoes and the colors of pants; and there, sitting on the couch with a semi-circle of people around her, sat my mom.

At the time, I lived in a small town in upstate New York; the same town where my mother and her parents before her, were raised. My mom's nickname was "Peaches" - I was known to all as "little Peaches." My brother used to sleepwalk outside. Neighbors would call my mom to tell her, "He's out again." We walked to Sunday school and visited the firehouse where my grandfather was a volunteer. That's how it was when I was safe. That's how it was before my life took an abrupt turn and everything changed. Everyone knew us and everyone knew who drove what vehicle ... consequently, everyone in town knew what happened before I even woke up.

To this day I don't know who told me my father died. I don't remember the rest of that fateful day or the following weeks. I try, but it's gone. I don't remember my sister or my brother, or my mom after I saw her on the couch, and even that's foggy, like a dream you try to remember.

I won't continue to account for every detail. But I want you to understand how the life of a child can be indelibly changed by the one simple act - or lack thereof - by those who are charged with their well being; how I - as a five year old - would feel the security of my life quake beneath my feet. How that lack of security would take root and grow into a tree that cast a deep, dark shadow I sometimes thought had taken over the sky and blocked out the sun forever. How years would pass before the earth would be still and eventually, with the birth of my son, the support of friends and family, and the Air Force, I felt the sun's warmth reach me again.

How many times have we been preached to about driving when we're tired, driving without a seat belt, not taking long drives after a full day's work, being more vigilant during inclement weather? I wish my father had gotten those briefings.

Several factors led to the tragic accident that befell my family, factors which all led to one moment that could have been avoided; factors that consigned my mother to a life working in a factory, waiting tables and leaving vacant seats at school plays. We moved from our two-story house across the street from a park and a couple blocks from my grandparents, into a single-wide, three-bedroom trailer in a new town filled with strangers. We took hand-me-downs from neighbors and shopped at bargain stores. My mom wore socks on her hands to scrape the ice off the windshield. I attended seven different schools before I graduated.

My sister and I learned to clean house, cook and look after my brother and a new baby sister by the time we were seven. We learned not to ask for things because we could see the strain on my mom's face. But we never complained; we didn't know this wasn't the life we were supposed to have. This was our norm and we knew no different ... children are amazingly resilient. Your children are amazingly resilient.

But do you want your children or family members to learn to be resilient, to gain strength through loss, because you didn't take simple steps to avoid an unnecessary tragedy? Do you want your children to wake up and find your wife or husband surrounded by a support group as he or she figures out how to tell them they've just lost their mom or dad?

My dad had just lost his mom. He was tired from driving back from his parents and helping his family through their loss. He worked at Georgia-Pacific during the day but also fixed boat engines at night for extra cash. He was expected at the boathouse that night. My mom said she told him to stay home since he was tired and emotional. He was stoic though, and thought it his responsibility to make it to work and bring in the cash. He thought he was looking after his family.

There was a bad summer storm that night. The road up to Greenwood Lake was dark and winding. It was flanked by a smattering of forests and fields. When people came to our town from the lake, locals called it, "coming down the mountain."

So my dad, tired and stressed, goes to work for a couple hours at the boat house. The night goes on, the storm continues and he gets behind the wheel to come home for a well-earned rest. Only he never makes it home. My mom's parents passed the accident on their way home; my neighbor's husband drove past the accident and called his wife so she could go sit with my mom before the police showed up; our family doctor also recognized my dad's car and rode with the police to our house ... the phones across town started singing the alarm.

The final nail in the coffin, literally: my dad didn't wear a seat belt. He veered off the road and hit the last tree in a row of trees before an open field. He went through the windshield. My mom developed a drinking problem for awhile in the aftermath. Once, while under the influence of alcohol, she told me and my sister that my dad's face was split down the middle and the halves were shifted unevenly when she went to identify him. That vision still haunts me today.

My mom bounced back, though we sadly lost her almost nine years ago. My son has no grandparents on my side. Could this have been different?

I'm not telling you this story so you'll think about me ... not even for one second. What I want you to think about is your five-year-old little girl, or your three-year-old little boy ... a brother, sister, mom, dad ... I want you to think about if he or she would remember you or if he or she would remember the person who told them you died.

Simple acts - or the lack thereof - can make indelible differences in a life. Please make the right choice when you get behind the wheel.