Commentary - Mother recalls tragic loss to drunk driving Published Feb. 16, 2007 By Jeannine Roberts 82nd Communications Squadron SHEPPARD AIR FORCE BASE, Texas -- When I saw some e-mails that went out about Airmen drinking and driving, I felt I had to reply. I was asked if I would write a commentary from a mother's point of view on drunk driving and my first thought was, "What am I going to say? What could I possibly say that would make a difference in someone's life?" I started going through my daughter's file and ran across the paper that I read in court in front of her killer and thought, "This is it!" So, the following story that you will read is the true story about the night that changed the lives of so many people. My husband, John and I sat on the couch watching TV, the phone rang a little after 9 p.m. John answered the phone and I had a strange feeling that something was terribly wrong. With a puzzled look on his face, John handed me the phone and said he didn't know who it was. As I said "Hello" I knew it was Steve's voice (my daughter Holly's boyfriend) at the other end--something was wrong. With a lump in my throat, my body tightening and my heart starting to pound faster, I asked Steve what was wrong. He was crying and trying to find the courage to tell me that Holly had been in an accident. "Jeannine, I am so sorry. They said she's not going to make it!" "What?" I screamed. "Steve, what's wrong? Oh no! Don't tell me this." Crying even harder now, Steve told me to hurry. I told him we would be right there. As I rushed to the bedroom to get dressed, I was yelling for John and Cajun, Holly's brothers, to hurry. I told them that Holly has been in an accident and was not expected to make it. While we were on the interstate rushing to get to the hospital, fear set in that we weren't going to make it in time. We weren't sure where the hospital was or how to get back in touch with Steve. With my husband clutching my arm, I began crying and screaming, "Oh my God, please don't let her die! Please drive faster. I wish Steve would call." John squeezed my arm even tighter as he saw my pain and frustration. I called my parents in Texas so they could get a flight out as soon as possible. I couldn't make time go any faster and we had already hit 90 mph trying to get there. The cell phone rang and it was Steve calling me back and wanting to know where we were and to tell us to hurry. I told him we were going as fast as we could and, at this point, I had wished that I had driven. Do you know what it's like trying to get somewhere fast before someone you love dies? The phone rang again and it was Steve. I'll never forget that moment. The words I heard sent a chill over me like I had never experienced before. "Jeannine, SHE'S DEAD!" I remember screaming and beating the dash of the truck with my fist. John's hand was on my shoulder trying unsuccessfully to calm me down. I screamed for John to hurry. That moment was the worst feeling in my life. I felt helpless and angry at the same time. I just couldn't get there fast enough to say goodbye and I love you one last time. When we arrived at the hospital, I saw some of Steve's family in the reception area. I asked about Dakota, my grandson. He was Holly's 13-month-old son and was in the car seat behind the passenger side of her car on that night. They told me that he had been taken to a room and was being X-rayed for any injuries. As I was being lead to the room where Holly was, I asked the sheriff what happened. He told me that Holly was hit head on by a drunk driver, a 17 year-old boy named Joel. I asked if he was OK or if he was fighting for his life. What was I suppose to feel? It all seemed like a dream and that any minute now I would wake up. Part of me wanted Joel to live and part of me felt rage and hoped that he, too, had died. The doctor came out and asked me if I was sure I was ready to see Holly. I began to imagine the worst. I said "yes" but with reservation. Before we entered the room, the attendant informed me that she was swollen from all of the excess fluid in her body. Horror took me over and I began shaking and feeling cold. When we entered the room she was lying there on a table, flat on her back, a white sheet draped softly across her and her beautiful brown eyes closed ... forever. I wanted her to look at me just one more time and again say the words she said just earlier that day, "Mama, you know I love you!" I am still waiting to hear those words from her. I stood over her body and prayed that God would please open her eyes and perform a miracle. I thought if I stood there long enough that she would wake up. As I stroked her long, dark curly hair, I softly kept repeating, "Holly, please wake up. It's Mama, Holly. I love you. This isn't you. It's all a dream and everything will be alright." When I touched her crossed arms, they felt like she had been in a freezer. I began to realize that her life had left her body. I didn't want to leave her side because I knew it meant admitting she was gone, and that I wouldn't see her again until the funeral. I finally gathered enough strength to kiss her cold lips and say, "Holly, I don't want you to go. I love you baby girl." John pulled me away because someone from the morgue was coming to take her away, and I couldn't be in the room when they did. I didn't know that an autopsy would be done on her. I thought, "Why, she wasn't drinking and didn't do drugs?" To me, it dehumanized her very being, her existence on this earth. Why couldn't it have been Joel and his family going through this? Most drunks survive a crash so why couldn't she have been the one that was drunk and survive? I just wanted her to live. I wanted to give her birthday cards, Christmas cards, visit her and tell her I love her. Joel's parents visit him and tell him they miss him and encourage him to hang in there. When I visit my daughter I can only look at the picture on her headstone and think back on what was. The days that followed were endless hours of running errands. I felt as though I had to do it all by myself because I owed it to my daughter and grandson. I wanted to make sure that everything was done right. I thought that one of the hardest things I would ever have to do would be to pick out the casket, but I was wrong. The hardest thing was when they lowered her body into the ground and covered it with dirt. Even at that point I hoped that somehow she would give us a sign that she was still alive. Her long, dark hair, big brown eyes, gorgeous smile and kind heart are in my thoughts everyday. I remember the laughter, the Top 10 countdown on the radio and the times she would take me by the hand and start dancing around the living room. I remember the hugs and kisses she would surprise me with, and the times she would climb into bed with me and say, "Let's cuddle Mom." So, I would wrap my arms around her body, kiss her long dark locks of hair and say "Goodnight Pumpkin, I love you." I never knew just how precious each moment we spent together really meant and that Saturday--Jan. 31, 1998--would be our last day together.