V.I.P.s

I've been on a bit of a roll lately, what with the ongoing adventures of our new guys and looking back fondly on my time in the Deeg.

Today, however, is not a day for that.

Today my look back is only going as far as last night.

To my semi-regular gig at the College of Lake County.  For the monthly Victim Impact Panel.  Speaking to a room full of first-time DUI offenders.  I say "semi-regular" because I'm not there every month.  But, if I'm not at work or out of town, you can find me there the second Wednesday of every month speaking to around 150 people.

Let that sink in for a minute.

Every. month.  150 first-time DUI offenders.  In Lake County.

There are panels in every collar county, every month.  And some counties have multiple panels.  Without looking it up, I think Cook County has four a month.

I'm not positive but I'm fairly certain I just marked my tenth anniversary speaking there.  Every month, telling a roomful of strangers intimate details of my life, trying to relate to them the pain my family has experienced since a drunk driver took Caitlin's life and, I believe ultimately, Diane's.  It is both crippling and cathartic.  There are times where the emotions and the memories come flooding out in a torrent of tears, while other months I'm able to keep my composure.  Either way, as I tell the crowd right up front, my goal is to get through to every one of them.  You hear the cliche "If you reach one person it's worth it" and I say to that "Bullshit" because if I only reach one person, I've wasted everyone's time, mine included.

A couple of things... first, because it's important to me that they not tune us out, I tell them that the other speakers and I are not trying to scold them or tell them they are bad people, we're only sharing our stories to try and change their behavior.  The act they committed does not make them inherently bad people, so having them ignore the message is counterproductive.  Second, I let them know that I'm not looking for sympathy, my life is good and I've been blessed many times over. And I admit that there have been times I drove when I had no business getting behind the wheel of a car.

But never since Caitlin was killed.

I was never a big drinker, it was a fairly easy decision for me to make.  If I have to drive, I drink water or coffee or anything non-alcoholic.  I figured it was easier to avoid it altogether rather than try and figure out if I was "ok to drive" you know?  That was my choice.  I'm just trying to encourage them to do the same.

As I inferred a couple paragraphs earlier, I'm not alone at these panels.  A typical group consists of a victim, an offender and a facilitator.  Over the years, between the various panels and high school presentations, I've told the story of these two -

hundreds of times and with dozens of different speakers joining me to tell their stories.  About a year ago, instead of talking about Caitlin and Diane, I started facilitating the Lake County panel.  The change just made sense to me.  Our panel had evolved to four speakers instead of three and the panel started running long.  In addition to the things I mentioned above, I felt like people started to zone out if they were in there too long regardless of the quality of the speakers.  Kind of a "the brain can only retain what the butt can tolerate" approach. After all, they're not there because they want to be, they're there as part of their sentence.  Since they don't usually know what to expect from the evening, they are often a tad anxious and it's not uncommon for people to be laughing and joking amongst themselves before we start.  Besides, it's kind of a long process for the Probation Department to get them checked in, so some are sitting for thirty minutes or so until the room is filled.

Last night was no exception, as illustrated by the four young (I'd guess they were all 25-30) people sitting togetherish in the two front rows.  They were chatting casually, laughing about whatever it was they were discussing.  I really wasn't paying too much attention until they all laughed loudly about something and I heard the young man in the front row say "I hope you don't make me laugh after this thing gets started"

I thought; well, we'll see about that.

As I said, I've spoken alongside dozens of people.  The two I speak with now are among the best.  Margaret's ten year-old son was killed while tubing on a local lake when a boater; drunk and high on cocaine, ran him over, decapitating him.  It happened four years ago and the pain is still incredibly raw every month when Margaret recounts the events of that day and so many horrible days since then.

The other speaker, Kris, tells of a loving, caring, dedicated school teacher who was killed by a drunk driver.  And that she, Kris, was that drunk driver.  And she tries to express the guilt she lives with every single day of her life.  She does a very good job of that.

They are, individually, very powerful speakers.  Together, they make an incredible impact on the room.

And over the course of the evening, as I watched the faces of the four young people, it was obvious they had been reached.

The final part of the program is when the audience files past us, shaking our hands (although some choose to pretend we aren't there) and often offering a hug or some words of condolence for our loss or gratitude for our time.

Last night, when front row guy got to me, I put a hand on his shoulder and told him I was glad he didn't feel the need to laugh at us.  He got a sheepish look on his face and told me we had definitely had an impact on him.

There's no real way to quantify what kind of an overall impact we have on people, though I think last night we had a higher than normal number of people offering hugs to the speakers at the end of the night.  I hope it counts for something, but statistically, panels like this don't hold their effectiveness for more than eighteen months.

After we had finished, we were picking up and chatting idly, the Sheriff's deputy that sits in every month asked me if someone could come in and talk to me.  I said sure, and in walked front row guy.  He apologized for his behavior before the panel.  I thanked him but told him that it was unnecessary.  I told him that, due to his earlier comment, I had watched him in particular over the course of the evening and that I saw that he "got it".  I wished him well and finished gathering my stuff.

Several family members have and will continue to post on social media not to drink and drive.  Consider this my effort towards that.  Like I tell the panel-

I'm not going to tell you not to drink.  If you're over 21 you have the right to drink yourself stupid every day of the week and I'll defend your right to do that.  But you don't have the right to drive drunk.  Take the bus, take the train, take a cab, call Uber, call Lyft, call a friend, stay where you are, have a designated driver, BE a designated driver.  There are so many options now.  Don't drive if you've been drinking.  Don't put another family through what my family has gone through.  Don't put YOUR family through what my family has gone through.

This tenth year since Diane died has been rife with memories, both fond and harsh.  As I've aged and grown with my grief, I've tried to focus more and more on the positive.  I still have far to go, but I do feel like I'm still making progress.

And that's a good thing.

Maybe the best thing.

One last photo before I go.  I may have used this one here before, but it's my favorite of us and it is, after all, my blog so...

I'm not sure if I'll be back here before the holiday, so in case I'm not-

Happy Holidays to all!

And,

Peace