I can’t imagine what that moment is like when your life or the life of a loved one is stolen from you.  Oh, I’ve heard the testimonies of those in prison, doing time for vehicular homicide.  I’ve sat with both men and women as they have cried uncontrollably in the aftermath.  There is no doubt of their sincerity and their regret and their wanting to have a “do over,” and their desire to wanting an end of their own suffering by suicide.

The reality for so many behind bars who have been convicted and who have ended another person’s life is that they are stone cold killers.  So drunk, so beyond feeling, so beyond reason that they can’t even remember the act.  Some bleeding hearts will say that the punishment is cruel and that we should simply feel sorry for those who are living in regret.

And perhaps we should. They are not all bad people, but they all made bad choices. They gave in to something that was bigger and stronger than they had anticipated. The experience humbled them into the reality that something out there drove them. They became the monster they created with their inability to confront their own demons and their failure to get help when help was so readily available.

But… what if someone finds out? You tell me which is worse. Having someone find out that you have an addiction or hearing the news reports that your addiction turned you into a killer.

Taking a 4,000-pound projectile, trusting it to shaky hands, blurry eyes, half a brain and running it through the small body of a human being, separating her little neck from her head, breaking bones and ripping through flesh as a hot knife cuts through butter.  Killing with that kind of extreme prejudice should send chills.  And knowing that everyone of us is capable of it should stop us all in our tracks.

I want to go back and freeze the frame and isolate that exact moment of insanity. I can’t help those who have already killed someone with their vehicle. What I want, is to go back to relive that moment of terror so that someone who is reading this will literally be scared to death to drive under the influence.

We can use every excuse in the book and I believe that I have heard close to all of them and used plenty myself. I drank because I was angry with my wife.  I drank because it was what my boss expected of me in order to entertain my client. I had no time to eat because I worked so hard all day – and only had two drinks.  It was raining outside and the windows were fogged up.  I was only a few miles from home.

What was it like? That moment that you had your life stolen from you as you killed someone? Did you reach for something? Did it happen suddenly or was it like slow motion?  

The initial impact. Like hitting a bump in the road or a pothole. Suddenly your mind sobers momentarily and you remember the scream or shriek and the crying as it becomes faint while you get out of your car. And then the eerie silence and the realization that you’ve killed someone. That initial crunching of a bone. Most say they were conscious enough to remember that moment and each time they remember it, it brings sobs.  

One man can’t sleep without the lights on. He watches the eyes glaze of the young girl he hit and from the tensing and wincing of pain, her body relaxes into a place where she surrenders to death and his bloodshot eyes look into a lifeless stare.

The mistake isn’t in the killing. It’s in the getting behind the wheel. It’s in the denial of a problem. It’s in the refusal to get help while there is still time. It’s in believing the lie that you are a good driver even while impaired. I used to laugh and say that my car knew its own way home. I don’t laugh now. I’ve seen the graphic nature of life and the brutality of death.

Some may in fact be good drivers. The problem is that they are bad drinkers. Alcohol steals the perception of yourself. Remember that next time you sit behind the wheel and you can smell your own breath. You’ve lost your perception and you are taking a weapon into your shaking hands.

It’s time to surrender the keys or you will end up in a place where you have no control of any keys. If you’ve had a close call…  a near miss…  a wake-up moment – that’s called grace. Mercy was on your side that night, but she may not come around again.

Those who are warned and press on anyway are those who forsake their own mercy. I feel bad for them. I feel sorry for the families of those they are going to rob. But until we start calling them what they are, the crime will never be heinous enough to cause them to pause. Killers. Stone. Cold. Killers.

And it’s sad to think of how many will join that fraternity this year.