Note from editor Chuck Woodbury: I found this short essay on LinkedIn. It broke my heart. But I realized that I needed to share it on RVtravel.com as an important reminder. You’ll understand why after you read it.
By Deanna Russo
My phone rang at 12:22 a.m.
It was my mom telling me to go to Mercy Hospital, Karen had been in an accident, because that’s what the message on their machine told them when they got home from a movie.
A blinking light on their answering machine and all these years later they still take a deep breath when they see a blinking light and check their messages.
We got to the hospital first.
On the way from one waiting room to another, we passed dozens of police officers.
They said, “Wait here until your parents get here.”
That’s when my head started spinning. Wait, what? Where is she? Why can’t I give my little sister a hug and tell her everything is going to be OK? That’s my job. I’m the big sister. I have to take away her pain and make her feel better.
My parents got there and a police investigator opened the door and he said, “There was an accident and Karen didn’t make it.”
Karen didn’t make it.
Just like that, she was gone.
My mom kept shaking her head and said, “You have the wrong person. I want to see her.” We held hands and walked into the room and there she was. Her beautiful blue eyes were shut. She was pale white. My knees buckled.
March 6, 1998, my little sister Karen was killed by a drunk driver. She was 18 years old.
If you would like to help reduce tragedies like this, please consider a donation to M.A.D.D., Mothers Against Drunk Driving.