January 2nd

“I need to know what happened that night. As your attorney, I can only help you as much as you let me.”

“I don’t have it in me to relive it.”

“You’re the one who made it out alive. It is your responsibility to relive it. I don’t think you had ill intentions getting into that vehicle, and I don’t even think you were necessarily reckless, but we need something to tell that jury. Otherwise, I can’t protect you in that court room.”

“How could you protect me? I did it. I am the reason that girl will never graduate college. Her dad will never walk her down the aisle. She’ll never have kids or grandkids. Her family and friends will live forever with that hole in their chest. I’m a monster.”

“Don’t worry about how I could protect you, worry about making me believe I should. Everything you just said may be true, but I’m hoping the last part isn’t.”

“Where do I even start?”

“Start on the day of the incident. What happened?”

“As you know, it all began on January 2nd. I had just gotten off of work that day when I received a text message from my mom. Another guilt trip for missing yet another holiday party with my family to sit in the hospital and receive pitiful side glances from the staff. Her words, not mine.

How could I possibly toast with champagne, ringing in a new year, celebrating, while my wife had been lying in a hospital bed for three months at this point?

Everyone, including her family, had begged me to give up for weeks now. To let her rest. To give them closure. I didn’t feel strong enough to make that decision on my own. I needed divine intervention to take her from me.

Our first year of marriage was supposed to be full of receiving late wedding gifts, her fawning over finally getting our wedding albums from our three photographers we spent thousands on. Not constant beeping, fluorescent lighting, and the sting of her absence in every corner of our home.

Anyway, that day, the message from my mom slightly got through to me. Instead of taking my usual route to the hospital to spend the remainder of my evening there, I headed to the liquor store. I wasn’t quite to acceptance yet, but I was a step ahead of denial for the first time since she wound up in that bed. I decided I was better off numbing the pain than waiting for nothing.

I got home and poured myself a glass of bourbon. Then another, and another, and the next thing I knew the bottle was empty. It didn’t make me feel better. In all honesty, it made me feel worse. I just kept wishing it was me that was bedridden.

She wouldn’t be at home drinking away her sorrows. She wouldn’t be a coward and keep me from peace as she sat and stared at my unmoving body every single day for months. Most importantly, she would be conscious, moving around, and making every single person she encountered’s day better. Why was I the one stuck here over her? I thought if there was a god, he was playing a sick joke. Taking away an angel to torture a devil or something.

I almost didn’t hear my phone ringing in between sobs. I must have started crying somewhere between my last glass of bourbon and my phone ringing. I don’t really remember answering, but I remember clear as day what the voice on the other end said.

'How soon can you get here? She’s awake.'

I didn’t even respond. I don’t remember if they hung up or if I did honestly. I ran to my truck, jumped in, and muscle memory and adrenaline took over. Every stop and turn was embedded into my memory at this point. I told myself that I could make it there. That I’d be careful. I knew I shouldn’t drive. I could feel the bourbon in my bloodstream like fire. But logic didn’t stand a chance against the surge of hope that flooded me.

My heart was racing. My mind was full of everything and nothing. I had been waiting to hear those words for 96 days. From the second she collapsed in our driveway and was rushed away in the ambulance. The ER doctor told me she had a stroke, but that was the last clear answer I got.

How could she have a stroke at 30 years old? What caused it? When will she wake up? My questions were endless, unlike the answers which were non-existent.

Then- a thud.

Heavy.

Sickening.

I put my truck in park and got out and saw something in the road. It was bleeding. Everywhere. And whimpering. I couldn’t even process what I was seeing before someone ran out of their house and started screaming. They must have called the police because the next thing I knew lights and sirens were surrounding me.

I was put in cuffs and asked to blow into a breathalyzer. I complied, dumbfounded and confused. I was thrown into the back of a cop car as they loaded what turned out to be the body of a young girl into an ambulance. Only then did I begin to react to what was happening.

I began begging the officer to take me to the hospital. He apparently thought I wanted to see the individual I hit, but I finally got the words out that my wife was there. He paused after I told him that I was headed there to begin with, and I could’ve sworn I sensed a little bit of pity as he told me he had to take me to the station.

As we arrived, I finally began to sober up and the reality of the situation started to really hit me. My wife had woken up on the only day I had gone home instead of sat by her side. She woke up alone and confused, ignorant to the fact that a person was being rushed into that very hospital because of me. Ignorant to the fact that her second chance at life was the beginning of the end of mine.

It was all my fault for beginning to give up on her. I should have never let everyone’s incessant nagging to let her go get to me. I should have believed with my whole heart that she was a fighter and would come through. I should have had faith in her. And beyond all of that, I should have ordered an Uber, a taxi, anything to not get behind the wheel in the state I was in.

Come to find out, the victim of my negligence succumbed to their injuries. A 19-year-old girl. She was walking home from a friend’s house. I sometimes sit and wonder what her last thoughts were. Her last words, her last interaction, her last meal. I took everything from her because I had lost hope. I tried to numb my pain instead of looking it in the eye. For that, I will never forgive myself.

Now it has been 132 days since I last saw my wife awake, and 42 days since the last time that girl’s family saw her alive. The worst part is, they never even had time to hope. Like I did. I have passed on my pain tenfold for one stupid, reckless decision. And regardless of what happens in that courtroom, I will never stop paying the price for it.

Does that answer your question?”