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THE POLICE CAME TO MY HOUSE
Yesterday, the police came to my house. I had known they were coming, but that didn't make it any easier. When the officer told me that my son had been killed by a drunk driver, I felt like I had been punched in the stomach. There is no way to prepare yourself to hear those words.
Andrew had always been our adventurous child. He learned to climb about the same time he learned to walk. Every time he got on his bike, I half-expected a trip to the emergency room. He never saw any sense in going around something if he could go over, under, or through it. When I went to pick him up on Monday night, he was walking around on the roof of the Gym. They were covering the skylights with black plastic to set the proper mood. I think sometimes he liked to stress-test his mother's and my hearts.
The day started like any other. We dropped him off at school, dropped his sister off at her school, and then went to work. At school, classes were interrupted by the sounds of heartbeats coming over the PA system. Police and school officials went to classrooms and called out a student's name. As the student was led away, his obituary was read to the class. This happened over 30 times that morning. Police and grief counselors called on all of the parents, some at work, some at home.
Later, all of the students gathered at the stadium for an assembly. Andrew and the other "living dead" lined the path to the stadium. When all of the students were present, the tarp was removed, exposing a horrible head-on crash. It may have been staged, but there was no doubt that it was real.
The police were the first on the scene, followed shortly by the fire department and EMTs. The driver of the first car was able to get out of his car, but his passenger was through the windshield, onto the hood. They removed her body and wrapped it in a yellow sheet. The two in the second car were alive, but were badly injured. They cut off the top of the car and used the jaws of life to remove them. The driver was incoherent, and her passenger had no feeling in his legs. He was taken, by ambulance, to the hospital. When his parents showed up, they were told he would never walk again. She was taken, by helicopter, to the trauma center. Her mother and step-father were there, along with her father. Together, they were told that she had not survived. By then, the coroner had arrived at the crash scene. The passenger from the first car was placed in a body bag and was taken to the morgue. That left only the first driver. He failed the sobriety test, was handcuffed, arrested for manslaughter, and was taken to jail.
The participants were removed and spent the rest of the day and night at a retreat. They spent the time discussing choices, consequences, immortality, and relationships. Their classmates, friends, and families didn't see them again until the assembly this morning. They left empty seats in the classroom and at the dinner table.
Last night, we attended a parent's retreat. Each of us discussed our children and how the day had affected us. Then we wrote letters to our children. It was a very moving experience. Nobody slept well last night.
This morning, we showed up at the school gym, but we didn't see our children. There were probably over a hundred family members there, and they seated us on folding chairs in the center of the gym. Then they filled the bleachers with 1500 students, but we still hadn't seen our children. When they turned off the lights and started the music, the mood was somber. When they wheeled in the coffin, I lost it. We all lost it. I strained to see when the participants came in. Although it was dark, Andrew with his black hat, towering over the others was unmistakable. And I was filled with relief. They showed a movie of the events of the day before. They included all of the events from the crash scene, as well as events at the hospital, trauma center, jail, and morgue. Some of the letters were read, both parent to child, and child to parent. A counselor named Jason Barber talked to all of the students about issues of choices and consequences. Finally, it was over, and I was able to give my 6'4" 16 year-old baby boy a hug.
I'm not going to attempt to represent the Every 15 Minutes program, although I strongly encourage you to visit their web-site. I have been very impressed, and very touched by what has occurred. The participants were selected two months ago, and have attended regular planning meetings. Parents not only had to approve, but we had to agree to participate. However, their classmates, friends and siblings were unaware of the program. There were a huge number of people involved in the program, many unseen. In addition to school staff and faculty, services were provided by police departments, fire departments, ambulances and helicopter crews, hospitals and trauma centers, morticians and the county coroner, churches, counseling and crisis centers, and more civic-minded merchants than I am aware of.
So, what was it all for? Every student in the school was touched. The lessons of choices and consequences were hammered home by the events of the past two days. I hope they remember these lessons as we approach the season for Proms and Graduations. I'm certain my children won't choose to drink and drive. I hope they're smart enough to not ride with someone who has been drinking. And I pray to God that they won't cross the path of a drunk driver.
As for myself, regarding issues of right and wrong, I hope that I am unambiguous, and can back up my words with my actions. I want people that I care about to know that I care about them. I want my children to know that I'm proud of their accomplishments. I want my love for my wife and children to be so obvious, that they can take it for granted. I want my children to outlive me.
And finally, I want to never again, have the police come to my house - or yours.
Larry Smith
April 17, 2002
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