I had just showered and was savoring my first cup of coffee of the day, all the while grumbling to myself about the advent of another work week. Vacation the week before had been very relaxing and fulfilling, as my sister, her husband, and my nephew had come to Vermont to spend the week with us. We had not seen each other for almost seven years, and during the course of the week, both my sister and I gotten to know each other's children all over again.
I was brought out my state of self-pity by the flash of headlights shining through my front window. I wasn't really alarmed at this point as Michael sometimes came home early from an overnight camping trip, or a late from a night on the town. The alarm didn't sound even as the lights continued to glare through the window, and the knocking on the front door began. Michael forgot his key, I thought. However, when I opened the door to the sight of two State Police Officers, the red flags started to wave. But, I think it was when they asked me if I was Mrs. Lawton, and I noticed that they both held their hats against their chests, that those flags started to suffocate me.
I honestly do not remember inviting these two officers into my home, yet the next thing I knew, I was sitting on the couch, with them standing in front of me, and one of them asking if I had a son named Michael. When I answered "yes" this young man told me that there had been an accident. I barely remember asking if Michael was alright, and hearing the words, "I'm so sorry, but he didn't make it." I asked if they were sure it was my son, and pointed to a picture on the wall. The response I was given still makes my blood run cold...."I'm sorry Mrs. Lawton, but we cannot tell from a photo. Did Michael have a tattoo on his calf? One of a jester's head?" At that moment, I knew, I just knew that my precious son would never walk through the front door again.
I began to scream my husband's name, awakening both him and our 9 year old daughter. Brian came running from the bedroom, took one look at me, and dropped to the couch. I told him Michael had been in an accident, and that he didn't make it. At this point, our daughter began to scream from her room, having overheard my words. I ran to her, held her close, and attempted to bring comfort to her, even though my world had just come to an end. Her words will haunt me forever..."Not my brother, not my Michael!"
What seemed like hours later, Brian came into our daughter's room and told me that he had to go to the hospital to make a positive ID. I knew I had to make the obligatory phone calls, ones you cannot make, yet must. I remember calling my mom, but not what I said to her. Later, she told me that I had cried out to her, "Momma, Momma, I need you. Michael's dead." She told me that her and my father would be on the next available flight, and that they would inform my sister. I think I dreaded that more than anything as she had just returned home after vacation, only to have to return to attend her nephew's funeral. I then called my in-laws and informed them that their grandson had been killed. It seems that before I even hung up the phone, they were here, arriving several minutes before Brian returned home.
When Brian walked through the door, I knew it really was true, just by the look on his face. Yet, I still asked him if it was really Michael, hoping that this was all just some sort of unbelievable coincidence. More than one teenage boy had this type of tattoo, I reasoned. Brian told me it was Michael, that he knew from both the tattoo and by Michael's legs. But, I mumbled, you never saw his face, you cannot be sure. Brian informed me that they wouldn't let him see more of Michael than from the waist down, as it was too graphic, and that our baby's face was unrecognizable....
Over the next few days,as the details of the accident were revealed, I was to learn that my son had been killed by a drunk driver. Michael and three friends had accepted a ride from a friend who had been drinking. They were on their way home, traveling at between 80 and 90 mph, when the driver lost control on a narrow, winding bridge posted at 15 mph. The truck they were riding in went off the road, traveled approximately 300 feet in a ditch, hit a culvert, flipped end over end, before finally coming to rest in front of an old barn. My son, the driver, and the other boy in the truck were all ejected. My son was thrown into the path of the truck before it stopped moving, causing severe head and chest trauma. He died instantly. The driver was thrown from the vehicle, and landed quite some distance away. He too was killed instantly. The third boy was thrown clear, and although suffering internal injuries, has made a complete recovery.
There were two young girls in the truck as well. One, only 17 at the time,is now permanantly paralyzed from the waist down, whereas the second walked away with only a few bruises. This fortunate child came to me later that same day, and informed me of my son's heroism that fateful evening. She tearfully told me that Michael had saved her life, that as the truck began to lose control, Michael pushed her to the floor and braced her with his body. I have to be honest here; part of me still wonders if he had not done this, that perhaps he might have been able to brace himself, therefore surviving the accident. Yet, I knew he would not have thought of himself first. This was not in his nature. It wasn't something that Michael gave any thought to, it was pure instinct, to think of another's welfare before his own. This decision, made in the final moments of his life, truly defines the person my son was. This world has truly lost one remarkable human being.
It has been over a year since these events unfolded, yet the pain is as great. I write these words to serve as a warning that this can happen to you. Please don't let my son's death be in vain. Take to heart the lesson he has left us with. It only takes a moment's error in judgement to affect the lives of so many. Please, please don't drink and drive, and whatever you do, don't accept a ride from someone who has been drinking. Make a phone call, take the keys, walk, whatever it takes. Just come home.
