Stories

Rana’s Story

It was Father’s Day. It was also my birthday. June 17, 2001. I was on vacation with my family and we had a big day planned, starting with brunch, and afterwards, a River Cats game. It was a gorgeous weather. My boyfriend and I didn’t have time to stay for the whole game, though. We had an afternoon flight to catch, so at three o’ clock or so, we gathered up our things. Just as we were leaving the stands, Mom called out to me. She said, “I love you,” and blew me a kiss. That was the last time I would see her alive.

When they left the game, my mother and father-in-law were in the front seats. My brother was in the back. It was early evening, and they were making their way down Fair Oaks Boulevard in a Honda Accord. Barreling toward them on Marshall Avenue was a big Chevy pickup with a driver and passenger who had just left a bar. While at the bar, the truck owner’s intoxication was so obvious that some patrons decided to follow him on the road. They saw him speeding and fishtailing out of control and dialed 9-1-1. Unfortunately, help did not arrive in time.

The truck sped into the intersection at a speed of over 50 miles per hour. If the driver had seen the stop sign, if he’d been driving just a bit more slowly, things might have ended differently. Instead, the truck plowed into my mother’s car at full force. She and my step-father died instantly. My brother’s outcome was less certain. He suffered significant head trauma. His nose and jaw were broken. One eyebrow was completely torn off. The seat belt left a violet bruise across his chest. When I arrived at the hospital, he was unrecognizable to me. The doctors didn’t know if he would survive his head injuries. And if he did survive, he might never be the same again. The uncertainty…the fear of losing him too…it was agonizing. But after four nerve-wracking weeks, he was released from the intensive care unit and eventually made a full recovery. If he’d been sitting on the impact side of the car, things might have ended very differently. So many “what ifs.”

After striking my mom’s car, the truck flipped over. Though the driver and his passenger were sent flying from the vehicle, they sustained only minor injuries.

The legal process dragged on for two full years. This was partly because the truck’s owner chose to plead not guilty. He even claimed that he was an innocent passenger, and that it was his companion who was driving. The jury didn’t buy his story. They found him guilty on five charges, including the two counts of gross vehicular manslaughter, which carries the heaviest penalty. The judge gave him the maximum sentence of 16 years, 8 months. The gross vehicular manslaughter convictions meant that he must serve at least 85% of his sentence before becoming eligible for parole.

The whole experience was so unreal. In an instant, my life had been broken into two parts: “Before Crash” and “After Crash.” When people learn about my story, they often assume that I’ll be angry and cynical for the rest of my life. Actually, I learned eventually to accept what’s happened. Nothing I say or think can bring my mother back. Period.

That man deserves to be punished for what he did, but I’ve been able to forgive him. He didn’t intend to kill anyone. If anything, the whole experience has made me more empathetic. In my “Before Crash” life, I knew that these things happened. But there’s just no way to know what it’s like until it happens to you. If I couldn’t forgive him, my anger might have destroyed me. You either learn to live with loss or you do not. That’s just how it is.