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Sober Saves Lives – A Letter To All The Drinkers I’ve Ever Known

November 18, 2016


Hello. Thanks for stopping by and reading. Today, I’m typing about something some people don’t want to think about. Alcohol related deaths. I’ve met many interesting people along the way so far. Quite a few of them are now deceased. Some of them are probably still out there. Some of them really didn’t like me and maybe still don’t. Yeah, I don’t care if people who clearly have problems with alcohol and drugs don’t like the fact that I want them to be healthy and sober. Sometimes the party and the fun ends badly.

Let me give you a written picture of one day when I was 17. On that day, I got a call from my mother (may she be resting blissfully in peace). She was frantic and highly distraught. My father (may he also be resting blissfully in peace) had been involved in a solo car accident and was flown to shock trauma. I was alone at home and had no money to pay the toll to drive to the hospital in the city. Thankfully, a neighbor down the street loaned me toll money and off I went as quickly as I could. I parked in staff parking which led to a parking ticket, wandered around the hospital in shock searching for the emergency surgical unit wondering if perhaps I had lost my dad. At some point I found an elevator in the emergency room and the surgeon who had just worked on my dad was standing next. He could see I was worried and asked if he could help me locate someone. When I told him I had come to find my dad who had arrived a few hours before, he told me he’d just come out of surgery with my dad and that he had died on the operating table. Very quickly however, he told me that my dad had been revived and was in recovery. I was then lead off the elevator and shown to my dad’s room where my mother and several nurses were hovering over the wrecked body of my father. His name was Fritz.

There he was, laying unconscious on a hospital with tubes, monitors, pins in his arms and legs and covered with bandages. I felt sick. I had to leave the room. I went down the hall to the vending machines and stood there staring at packaged sandwiches for a good long while. Eventually, I purchased a tuna sandwich and a soda. Once I went back to my dad’s room, I was ready to hear the prognosis. No one knew at that point if he was going to with us by daybreak. Morning came and he was still alive. Finally my mother and I made our way home and began to discuss visiting schedules. I was still in high school, so obviously I was to take the afternoon shifts. Days went by and my father’s status was still critical. Eventually, he was moved to a room in the intensive care unit where he spent the next two months. That accident happened within two miles of our family home.

After two different complicated surgeries involving both skin grafts and vein grafts, he was allowed to come home. It had been three months since his accident and he was still in pretty bad shape. His car had been totaled, so when the family got a chance to purchase a new car for him – it had to be an automatic. He was now disabled and couldn’t drive a manual. My mother and I drove him around for almost a year before he could get behind that wheel again though. Several years later, I received another phone call.

This time it was my mother informing me that the car I used to drive back and forth to work had been trashed. Come to find out my older brother used it the night before and proceeded to lie everyone, including the insurance company stating that someone else was driving, but he was drunk and couldn’t remember who. It turned out, he wasn’t wearing his seat belt and his head flew into the windshield closer to the passenger side and cracked the windshield. Those who investigated the accident bought my brother’s story and he wasn’t charged with a DWI. I had to walk to work everyday after that. That accident happened less than 1/4 mile away from our family home. The next phone call I remember came as less of shock.

My dad had been arrested outside the local adult beverage store, because he backed into an off-duty police officer’s car and had a blood-alcohol level high enough to get jail time for a DUI. At first he was on work release. Later he was on home detention. That accident happened within 1/2 mile from our family home. But wait, there’s more. A lot more.

Next alcohol related news my family received happened while my mother was on vacation. That happened often at this point. I was alone at home and wouldn’t you know it I get a phone call from the local hospital informing me that my father was in the hospital and receiving treatment for minor wounds and insulin shock. He was later charged with a DWI. He crossed the double-yellow line and hit a mini-van with an entire family in it, including a new born child. Thank God those people were not hurt. This time the courts decided to give my dad home detention, so at the very least he couldn’t get a hold of alcohol any more. A NOT TO DIABETICS – YOU AND ALCOHOL ARE NOT FRIENDS. YOU WILL NEVER BE FRIENDS. COME TO TERMS WITH THIS. GET YOUR FAMILY AND FRIENDS IN THE KNOW ABOUT THAT. NOW. NO, RIGHT NOW.

Another phone call I remember was about my brother F. Christian who had been in a truck with his friends. He was drunk. They were hit head on by another drunk. The fact he was drunk may have actually saved his life. He was flown to shock trauma. His head went through the windshield. My dad went and picked him up that same day. For some reason he was released with shards of glass in his head. I spent the next two hours in the bathroom picking glass out of my brother’s bloody, head and face. He was scarred for life. Now comes the part of this real life story that I will be more specific about.

I had two beautiful little twin boys named Ryan and Thomas. There father and I were living together and were discussing marriage. We met at a Washington Capitals game. Those who know me can probably guess how thrilled I was to meet a fellow ice hockey fan. I was just couldn’t imagine anything better, because I grew up around football and baseball fans. I mean we were both Caps fans. One day, I woke up and, as women often do, felt sick to my stomach. I had a feeling I was likely pregnant. I was happy and scared, but told my man that I thought I was pregnant. His reaction seemed encouraging. We both went to work and on the way home from work I bought a pregnancy test.

I bounded through the front door and headed right to the bathroom. I peed on the stick, put it on the sink and went to the living room to turn on the TV while waiting for the results. That’s when I noticed that all of my boyfriends furniture was gone. There was no note. I couldn’t think, so I went up to the bathroom and saw the positive result on the pregnancy. There I was standing in my house, alone and pregnant. I called my boyfriend, but his phone number had been disconnected. I called his sister and she told me he didn’t want to talk to me and she hung up the phone. I found out later that he told her a bunch of lies about me and did not inform her that he had run like a sad, pathetic little boy from his responsibility as a father.

My parents couldn’t help me, so I raised two little boys by myself. When they were around 4, there father tracked me down and appeared at my door. He wanted to be involved in their lives. I was weary and cautious. I wanted to do the right thing for my children, so I agreed to let him spend time them under supervision. When they were about 5 1/2, he and I made arrangements with the help of social services to plan for him to get custody every other weekend. That process took a bit of time, because I wasn’t too keen on letting a runner have parental control of my children. Eventually though, he had shown signs of some fatherly maturity so, for my kids sake, we set a date for him to have unsupervised custody of the twins and at the age of 6, I put my two little men into a car and sent them off with someone who I have trouble even to this day describing as a man, never to see them alive again.

Long story short, their father, his brother and a few friends had been drinking the night they were meant to come back home to me for the week. Their father loaded them into the car and buckled them into their car safety seats. What he neglected to do however, was buckle the safety seats into the car. He was intoxicated and although his brother made a meager attempt at telling him he shouldn’t drive, he got in the car and headed to me.

He was driving at the speed of 50 mph and crossed the yellow line plowing directly into a mini-van travelling at the same speed driven by a grandmother who had just visited her ailing husband in the hospital after stroke. Her name was Mona. She had a van full of gifts for her 6 grandchildren who she was planning to see the next day at a family reunion. My children immediately became little torpedoes who flew from the back seat into the windshield. No one survived the accident. I got a phone call several hours after expecting the return of my children informing me that I had to come to the local hospital. All the man would tell me on the phone was that my children had been involved in a motor vehicle accident. That accident happened 2 miles away from my house.

Here’s why I don’t think bad driving, distracted driving, drunk driving or drugged driving is at all, in the slightest a light or laughing matter people having a big party with your lives: I had to walk into a cold, sterile room and walk up to a metal slab and see my little children who had recently learned how to ice skate mangled and twisted – DEAD with bits of their skin torn completely away from their precious little bodies. One of my children was missing an eyeball.

I have no sympathy for you people who refuse to admit you have a problem. ZERO SYMPATHY. It took me five years to forgive their father. I’d say the simple fact that I could walk into a building filled with Washington Capitals fans at all, let alone continue to support that team no matter what kind of crappy game they could sometimes put on ice was quite an accomplishment. Every single time I saw a Capitals fan after my children died was a reminder of their father. It took everything I had to get a season seat in 2007-2008 and go sit around a bunch of people who were a constant reminder a male with a penis who used to be Capitals fan.

One year after the accident that killed his brother and my children, the twins’ father’s brother committed suicide wracked with guilt over the fact he didn’t put in an effort to take the keys away from his brother that night. His parents lost their only sons and their only grandchildren in a year. Both of them died in a drinking and driving related car accident three years later. Many lives destroyed. My life changed forever.

I’ve met some families who ignore their family members problems. I’ve met some people who don’t suck it up, take the hit and get their loved ones into rehab. I don’t have nice things to say to any of either. Share this with everyone you know. It can happen to you. YOU ARE NOT IMMORTAL.


Peace – PastorMia –


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