I have written my story out many different times for different audiences, so some of what I have been doing is editing and re-wording previous versions of my story to share on here. However, I realized that somehow while doing this I left out a big part of what I call the grieving process after learning the news of William’s accident. So please allow me to back up a little.
One of the first things I remember thinking after hearing that William was in the accident and finally comprehending what actually happened was, “I don’t even know how to feel.” It was a very strange experience, to say the least. It’s certainly a position I’ve never been in before. I literally had no idea how I felt, let alone how I was supposed to feel. I didn’t know what to say or what to do. You see, many people, myself included, probably think about their loved one potentially being a victim in an accident like this. However, I had not once thought about a loved one, at least MY loved one, being the person who caused the accident.
I’m not at all saying that the victim’s family(ies) are lucky or going through any easier trauma or grief or anything to that effect. As I said before, I feel so terrible about what happened, and I never want to take away from their pain. But I do think that their grieving process is a little more….straight forward. They lost a loved on in a horrific, sudden, tragic way. They have every right to be sad, angry, depressed, etc. As a society, we mourn the loss of someone in this case along with the family. We can identify with them in some way because some of us have also lost loved ones, maybe even in a similar situation. We get angry and upset and grieve with them. We understand. We agree with how they are feeling. Their emotions make sense.
And to be honest, I understand them as well. One of the ladies was a mom with young children. I can’t even begin to imagine my children growing up without me because I was killed by a drunk driver. It brings tears to my eyes just thinking about that possibility. The other lady was older and had children around my age. The thought of losing my mom suddenly and tragically at the hands of a drunk driver enrages me, and I would be completely devastated. I honestly can’t even allow myself to think about it too long because it makes me so upset. Two people died. Two people with loved ones who needed them and miss them terribly. There are young children who will spend their entire lives without their mother. It’s absolutely terrible. It’s not fair. It’s tragic. It’s devastating. And it’s permanent. If it were me in their position, I’d feel all of those things.
But there really isn’t much out there when it comes to the families of the accused. Again, I’m not trying to make myself into a victim. I’m not trying to say that what my family and I went through was worse or even the same as what the victim’s families went through (and continue to go through). That being said, it’s still a life-altering situation, and there are bound to be feelings around it. I have yet to find a good word or even set of words to describe all of it. But let me list out some of the feelings you go through. Much of it is similar to the grieving process, but there’s something about it that’s different.
- Denial – Much like the death of a loved one, or any other life-altering situation, the denial is real and one of the first feelings I remember feeling. I felt a strong urge to physically “give it back.” I just wanted to take the news that I had been told and unhear it. I wanted to go to sleep and wake up and find out it was just a bad dream. I wanted to hear some new information that William wasn’t actually the driver or he actually wasn’t drinking. But despite my denial, it was all true. And there was nothing I could do about it.
- Guilt – Guilt is probably the second feeling I remember. I felt guilty for not knowing that William had a problem. I also was in a very peculiar situation, being a recovering alcoholic, because I had done the same exact thing hundreds of times. I drank and drove over and over and over. Every single time I got behind the wheel, I was drinking and driving. Usually, I also had an open container in the car with me and would physically drink while driving. I shudder and cringe thinking about it now, and it is by far my biggest regret. But it doesn’t change the truth that I did it. And I never got in trouble. I never hurt anyone or killed anyone. (This is by no means my own doing. It is only by the grace of God that nothing bad happened.) So I very quickly felt a sense of guilt because I felt like I should be the one in trouble, not William.
- Shame – I hate to admit it, but I was ashamed. I think anytime something shameful happens to a family member, it’s only natural to feel the shame yourself. It’s because family, whether you like it or not, it a part of you. There is a sense of ownership and belonging. Usually, you share the same DNA, so it’s like your family member is actually a part of you, a part of who you are. William and I are not related by blood or DNA, but I still think of him as my brother, just as I think of Margaret as my sister. I feel like his bad decision and his guilt was also a part of me, just because he was my brother. And I felt ashamed.
- Fear – Fear is another emotion I felt very early on. My family and I had never dealt with anything even close to this before. We have never been to jail. As a whole, my family follows the rules. We don’t do drugs. We don’t do anything wrong that would cause us to be in trouble with the law (outside of maybe a couple speeding tickets and my previous drinking). We are “good” people. So dealing with a bail bondsman and seeing William’s mugshot and him appearing before a judge was completely foreign territory to all of us. And let’s face it – if you kill two people, no matter how or why, it’s reasonable to assume you’re going to jail for a long, long time. Maybe even the rest of your life. And that is exactly what I thought. So I was extremely fearful of what his sentence would be and what would happen. But at the same time, I felt like I wasn’t allowed to be afraid, because William was alive. He wasn’t one of the victims. I should be happy that he made it out alive, right?
- Happiness/gratitude – Yes, there was part of me that was happy that William was alive. I was thankful that God saved him. He very easily could have died as well, but he didn’t. So I was happy and thankful. But it was a reserved sense of happiness. It was happiness with a side of guilt. That’s the best way I can describe it. And it certainly wasn’t the predominate feeling or emotion at the time. But this brings me back to this very strange, bizarre situation of being the family member of a guilty person. I felt like I wasn’t supposed to be sad, because William was alive. Sadness was for the victims and their families. But I also didn’t really feel all that happy. William’s life as we knew it was forever changed. Our family was forever changed. Sure, William was alive, but he was certainly going to prison. And even if I actually was happy, wouldn’t that be wrong? Isn’t it wrong to be happy that William lived when he is the one who caused the accident? I guess it’s a little bit like survivors guilt. But still not quite that.
- More guilt – see happiness above. I felt guilty for feeling happy. But I also felt guilty for not feeling happy.
- Confused – This is probably largely where I was for the first several months after the accident. I was just flat out confused. Confused about why God allowed this to happen. Confused about how I was supposed to feel. Confused about what to do. I mean – what do you even DO in a situation like this? Do you send flowers to the victim’s families? Do you go to the funerals to pay your respect? Do you send them a sympathy card? “Sorry my brother killed your mom.” And I’m not trying to be funny in saying that. I’m serious. Like what do you say? And if you don’t say something, doesn’t that seem even more callous? If it were any other situation, I would absolutely at least send a card. But would that make them even angrier? Should we donate money to the GoFundMe? And if so, how much? How much money would even be enough and not seem like a slap in the face? Their lives were priceless. No amount of money can make up for what was lost. But isn’t something better than nothing?
- More guilt – For feeling like I should do something, but ultimately choosing not to do anything.
- Sadness – This is much like the happiness I felt, except I was definitely more sad than happy. I was more than sad. I was devastated. I was grieving. I felt like I lost my brother. But then I felt guilty, because I didn’t actually lose him. He was still alive. So I wasn’t really allowed to be sad. But I was. I was so, so sad.
- Unknown – I don’t even know how to categorize this feeling. I guess guilt of some form. See, I felt sad for the victims and their families. But as I said before, I honestly couldn’t even allow myself to think much about this. I waited a very long time before I even allowed myself to find out who the victims were. I purposely did not even find out anything about them until I read news reports from William’s sentencing. But I knew that I just wasn’t strong enough to handle it. And for that I felt extremely guilty. Here there were families that had been completely torn apart and lost their loved ones, and I wasn’t even strong enough to learn about who they were. The only way I was able to live with myself was by praying. I very quickly prayed that God would give the families everything they needed. I prayed that He would give them peace beyond all understanding. I prayed that He would comfort them in ways I didn’t even know how to describe. I prayed that God would take care of them, because there was absolutely nothing I could do. And that was that. That was all I knew to do in the moment. And I felt guilty that I couldn’t do more.
- Anger – I was angry. I was angry at my parents. I was angry at myself. I was angry at God. But to be completely honest, I was never angry at William. I couldn’t be. I had done the exact same thing. Probably even more times and even worse than him. So I don’t think it even ever occurred to me to be angry at him. And of course, I felt guilty for not being angry at him.
As I said before, William is black. Every time I saw a black person for several months after the accident, I felt an extreme sense of sorrow. I can’t explain it. I don’t know why. I’m not sure if that’s racist. I don’t mean for it to be racist. But I’m just being honest. It was something I never expected to happen. But that was a surprisingly difficult emotion to deal with.
I also could no longer watch any true crime for several months. This was upsetting, because I loved true crime. Dateline and 48 Hours were my favorite shows. I listened to true crime podcasts at work. But I just couldn’t bear to watch people in the court room, people being found dead, people going away to prison for life. It was too much. There was no longer any form of entertainment in it for me. It made me sick. Physically nauseous. How could anyone think this was entertaining?
In fact, I really couldn’t watch much of anything. Anything happy, sad, or in between just gave me a terrible feeling in my stomach. I was able to watch some shows on the Food Network and Shark Tank and that was it. I listened to a lot of Christian music. In fact, I found a lot of comfort in music. I read devotionals. When I felt strong enough, I would research certain things about prison and the legal system.
And I went to therapy. I knew I couldn’t get through this on my own. I love my husband, but he is not very kind or compassionate in situations like this. He was very much on the side of “William deserves whatever punishment he gets.” So I couldn’t really talk to him about what I was feeling. And even if I could have, I don’t know what he would have been able to do or say to make it better. I mean, what do you say to someone in my situation? “I’m sorry your brother chose to drink and drive?” I wouldn’t know what to say either. But I knew I needed the help of a professional. And I’m so glad I did. I went to a Christian counselor, and I think it helped so much.
But mostly, the way I made it through, was through prayer. I prayed. And prayed. I yelled at God. I asked Him “why?” about a million times. I prayed when I was sad. I prayed when I was confused. I prayed when I was angry. I prayed when I was scared. I was basically praying every minute I was awake.
And I didn’t realize it at the time, but God was working. He was working in me. He was working through my prayers. And He is so, so good. I can’t wait to tell you more!
To God be ALL the Glory!
Love, Grace
