Life, Death, and the Choices in Between

We drive through the intersection and I cringe waiting for the question.

“Mommy, when is Melodie coming back,” my four-year-old asks for the third time this week.

He keeps asking not because I don’t provide an answer. He asks because he doesn’t understand the answer.

“Melodie is in heaven, sweetie,” I say.

How do you explain the intangible to a child? A year ago, Melodie was a smart, happy, shy but friendly nine-year-old. A year ago today, she went for a walk with her dad when a drunk driver struck her as she crossed the street. A year later, our community is still grappling with the aftermath of this tragic and avoidable accident which devastated her family and friends.

We pass through the intersection and my son pushes on, “How did she get there?”

Struggling with a way to explain it in terms he can understand, I say, “Her ghost went there and now she’s with God, the angels, and all the people who love her there.”

He nods and looks through the window visibly trying to process this concept as my thoughts drift to the “What ifs?” of the situation.

What if the man riding his motorcycle that night had someone who could take away his keys? What if he was jailed or had his license revoked for the six other DUIs he committed over the years (a scary thought to consider—he was only caught six times; how many other times did he get away with it and put himself and others in danger)? What if in the split second that he started the ignition he changed his mind and decided not to go for a ride that night? What if he started his ride two minutes later?

Lifting another bottle of beer to his lips, inserting the key in the ignition, driving 60+ mph in a 35 zone – what if he didn’t make just one of these decisions? So many choices yet the one he made had irreversible consequences.

Every day we make decisions that impact those around us. While our intent is never to harm anyone, what if a split second choice altered our reality and lives forever?

The police tape, chalk outlines, and flower memorial are long gone, but the imprint of that moment in time can never be erased. Tomorrow when we drive through the intersection my son will ask again. I’ll tell him about heaven and we’ll say another prayer for Melodie.

And I’ll think about her unapologetic murderer as he rots in his tiny jail cell and how one tiny decision could’ve altered his fate and saved a little girl’s life.