Alexandra Collman

In early winter, as the day began to wind to a close, a thin layer of snow covered the ground, meeting harmoniously with a thick fog in the air. A woman, in her early 60s, was traveling home from work as she had done every day before. A white angel, matching her car, hung from her rear-view mirror. It was a beautiful drive, the edge of the road dipping steeply down into a valley of trees, the fog hugging their trunks as if cushioning the ground. Soft music filled the car, and the angel swayed, dancing to the tune. Suddenly, unexpectedly, impact came. Her car began to move, being pushed by the vehicle behind her closer and closer to the edge. The music was drowned out by the sound of crushing metal until she was pushed over the edge, rolling once, twice, three times, into the embankment. 

Later that night, the news in Limerick, PA, reported the car accident as being the result of a drunk driver, and that the life of one victim had been claimed. The woman, my Nana, was involved in the accident on November 14, 2014. For a moment, our world stopped. Hearing the news and seeing a photo of her car, with its Tinkerbell license plate cover, left a feeling we will never forget. But the first stage of grief is denial. My mom picked up the phone and called my Nana, and our prayers were answered. She was okay. It was her in the accident, and she was taken to the hospital, but she was conscious and aware, and alive. The driver responsible claimed that he was attempting to merge, under the impression that her vehicle was the exit. This was not the man's first DUI either; he had been arrested for one just over a year prior, but because of the time between the incidents, he was not charged with a heavier sentence. Getting off as if he did not just turn a woman's life on its head, as if he did not sign her up for a lifetime of doctor's appointments, a lifetime of disability because of his carelessness. But let’s not forget, he broke his collarbone, so that must make it fair. 

My Nana’s accident was over ten years ago now. I was just a kid when it happened, excited about getting my first cell phone, nowhere near thinking about driving yet. So, as I got older, the memory of how scared I was faded. No one talked about how it affected her anymore because it became the new normal.  Now I’m twenty-four, and over the past few years, I have been reminded of how different my family's lives could be if the events of that night had been any different.  I am reminded when I see on Facebook that the person I went to high school with is being charged with manslaughter for killing a pedestrian while driving drunk. Then I hear about an old coworker getting pulled over for hitting a parked car on their way home from the bar. And for some reason, these still didn’t sink in enough. Because, as fate would have it, I went out one night and was too drunk to drive home. I had a plan for that already; my roommate was home, and she had already offered to come pick me up that night, but I was cold and tired. The bar was closing, and the staff was getting increasingly irritated with those who tried to stay inside away from the weather. In what seemed like divine intervention, this girl I had met earlier in the night offered me a ride home. Her breath stunk of vodka and blue caracou. I thought to myself that she was nice and promised that she wasn’t drunk. In fact, she said she was the designated driver for the night and would be taking a few other friends back to her house. I obliged and climbed into the back middle seat of her truck. I still remember driving, watching the road as she talked and laughed with her friends sitting on either side of me. We were going straight for a few miles, and I knew the road well as it was the same one I took to work throughout the week. We got closer to the bend, and I felt myself trying to scream out and say, “Watch the road!” But I waited a second too long, the truck lurched over a ditch, and it felt like the world slowed for a minute as the car was in the air. We landed upright in the front yard of a church. The airbags deployed, and the lights inside the cabin turned on, giving off a warm yellow light over everyone. Then I saw the blood, the girl I had just met, the one who was meant to be sober, was unconscious, sprawled over the wheel. I could hear screaming, but to this day, I don’t know who they were coming from or if they were coming from me. She woke up, and it felt like we had cheated death.

 I realized in those moments what my Nana had felt that day, and I realized what the drunk driver thought when he got behind the wheel. That he wasn’t too drunk, but he was. The accident wasn’t malicious, but the result of uneducated overconfidence. I feel it’s partly my responsibility to spread awareness of the severity of drunk driving and ensure the safety of myself and my community. I do this in part by leading by example. I take my responsibility as designated driver seriously, ensuring that I remain sober in order to get myself and my friends home without the same story I had. I no longer entrust the responsibility to anyone who may have been drinking when I cannot take myself home. With the multitude of rideshare app’s available, there is always an option that doesn’t put impaired driving behind the wheel  The lesson has been taught so many times that I began to feel, like many others, desensitized to the information. Because of this, I tell my story, not the risks that they may be taking if they get behind the wheel, but the names and faces of those experiencing permanent disabilities because of it. 

According to the Bureau of Maintenance and Operations, Pennsylvania Department of Transportation, 2014 Pennsylvania Crash Facts and Statistics, 333 people lost their lives due to alcohol related crashes (2014 Crash, 27). This number continues to fluctuate over the years, and now reports from a decade later show a significant decrease, with 2024 Pennsylvania Crash Facts and Statistics reporting 244 deaths in relation to crashes involving alcohol (2024 Crash, 26). We are moving in the right direction, but for myself, and the families of those who didn’t make it home, that number is still far too high. 

I was lucky; I walked away with bumps, bruises, and a lesson I will never forget. My Nana survived with damage she’ll feel for the rest of her life. Regardless of this, we got a second chance; you may not be so lucky. Don’t risk being the driver that never comes home.