Traffic deaths take emotional toll

  • Published
  • By Master Sgt. Kimberly Spencer
  • 59th Medical Wing Public Affairs
LACKLAND AIR FORCE BASE, Texas (AFPN) --  I tell myself I won’t cry this time.

It’s been almost six years since my brother was locked up for vehicular manslaughter. As I sit and wait for him to be released into the visiting area, I remind myself, I will be strong, I will not cry this time.

I’m thankful that he somehow survived the wreck he caused. I deal with the guilt that comes when I think of the mother and daughter in the other car who didn’t.

For my mother and stepfather the emotional and financial tolls have been devastating. Although he is one of six children, he is my mother’s only son.

For my sisters and me, it has been an emotional roller coaster. Some of us have forgiven him and support him to the best of our ability. Others choose to pretend he no longer exists.

I try to visit him at least once a month. The 12-hour drive gives me time to think.

I think about how this event has devastated so many lives; how that split-second decision, to get behind the wheel, has turned into a lifetime of pain.

In his intoxicated state, my brother never realized he had forgotten to put his lights on as he pulled out into the path of a car holding a family of five. They didn’t see him until it was too late.

T.C. finally arrives and checks in with the guards. This is when I feel the happiest, finally getting to see my baby brother again. I hug him briefly as a meaty-looking guard frowns.

We sit across the table from one another and chat. We’ve learned to keep it light, talking about something interesting he has read, or how work is going for me. I try to update him on family events without dwelling on the things he is missing too much.

Before I know it, the guard is giving us the five-minute warning. This is where it gets tough for me. I hug him hard, holding on despite another frown from the meaty guard. Inevitably, he pulls away and heads for the door back to his cell. As he turns to look at me one last time, and I see the sadness in his eyes, I feel the tears melting my resolve.

Slowly I make my way back to the outside, through the stale air, past the clanking metal doors running on molasses.

As I exit the last door, I give up and let the tears fall.

Next time I will be strong, I tell myself. I won’t cry -- next time.

I’ve got 54 years to see if I can do it.