On October 9, 2003, I was a different person then I am today. I was having the best year of my life. I had just got married, just found out I was pregnant; the next day was going to be my last one at work-shifting to stay at home mom (I already had a 2 year old, Levi). I went to bed early that night, ecstatic- nothing was going to bring me down. Or so I thought.
But on that evening, my dad, Stan Williams, was hit by a drunk driver. He was on his motorcycle and the drunk driver was in a dually 1 ton truck.
My dad loved motorcycles. He had ridden them since 15 or maybe even younger. The summer of 2003 he had swapped out the front end making his Heritage Softail into a Springer Softail. He had only had it back a few weeks. That October was unseasonably warm. And October 9th was one of those beautiful days. My dad spent that morning helping to put a new roof on his house. When he went to leave for work that afternoon his bike wouldn't start and he almost took his truck but on that last attempt it started. I wish it wouldn't have.
He got out of work at 10:30 and was headed home, but by 10:40 a 911 call was out. My phone started ringing a little after 11 but I had already went to bed and had the ringer upstairs turned off. I never go to bed before midnight but that day I did and so did my husband. I feel so guilty for sleeping thru the calls. But at 2 am cops were banging on my door. I woke up my husband; he looked out the window and said it was the cops. Strangely, I didn't think anything of it. I stayed upstairs but was standing by my bedroom door. I heard bits and pieces. Rebecca live here? Her dad…accident…Hurley. I shut the bedroom door. I knew because of the weather he had taken his motorcycle. I started getting dressed. I was deciding who to call at 2 am to leave my son with. My husband came up stairs and told me everything would be all right. I knew it wouldn't. As soon as I had heard the cop say "her dad" I knew it wasn't alright. I went into zombie mode. We dropped my son with my in-laws and headed to Hurley as fast as we could. When we got to the hospital it was like the building was abandoned. We couldn't find anyone. Finally we walked past a waiting room and I saw my grandma on the phone. She sugar-coated it for me and told me he was in surgery. They took us to a huge, but empty waiting room. A nurse popped in occasionally but really had nothing to say. I was filled with questions.
I kept wondering what had happened. I knew my dad was a cautious rider; he wasn't some kid out for a joyride. He was a responsible rider who had been on a motorcycle most of his life. I didn't think it was a purposeful act such as someone who had been drinking decided to drive and put others at risk, Just an accident, a horrible accident. But I was wrong. This was no accident and I will not say my dad was killed in an accident. He was killed in a crash by a drunk driver. Accidents can't be prevented. Choosing to drink and drive then killing someone that can be prevented.
As I was sitting in that waiting room thank God I didn't know what had really happened. A man who was only thinking about himself that night turned left into a bar right in front of my dad. There we no skid marks from my dad's Harley. He didn't even have a chance to try to avoid it. As he lay on the street dying the man who hit him didn't go over to check on him. He ran to a van in a parking lot to hide his beer bottles underneath. He left my dad lying on Davison road, dying. Thankfully, others stopped to help. In court I heard one of the men testify that he tried to help my dad so he didn't choke on his own blood. All the witness accounts were that they new he was really bad off.
But lets go back to the hospital at about 3:30 am. The nurse came in and told us if we went to a hallway we would be able to see him for a moment. He was out of surgery but still had some internal bleeding they couldn't find the cause of so he was going for a test and we could see him as they rushed by. Waiting in the hallway I was preparing myself as best I could, but I was no way prepared for what I saw. Had I not been told that this was my dad, I would not have believed them. He was so swollen from going into shock, they couldn't even close up after the surgery so they had some special covering for the opening in his stomach. He looked as if he was pregnant and he was by no means a big man. He was so pale from the loss of blood, tubes and blood everywhere, it wasn't my dad, it was a man I didn't recognize lying on a gurney dying. But it was him. We only had a few seconds to see him. I yelled down the hall "I love you daddy, don't go." I can't get that image of him out of my head.
Then, they moved us into a different waiting room- a small one with a door. The Dr's kept coming in telling us how bad he was. There was talk about if they could save his legs but I wasn't concerned about that. Forget about his legs, save his life I kept thinking. My mom was obsessed with the saving of the legs, she was just not comprehending that wasn't the real issue. I remember bits and pieces, blood he needs blood, but he isn't clotting, he need platelets, broken bones, surgery, more tests… one nurse told us "he is the sickest person in the whole hospital right now."
In the waiting room was myself and my husband, he was feeling helpless as I was lost in my zombie world telling him that I just knew my dad wasn't going to make it. My mom was talking about saving his legs, my grandma had her rosary out praying, my uncle was sitting at a table with his head down, my aunt was scared and angry. Then at 10 to 6, two Doctors walked in. All the other times it was just one so I knew. I don't recall what they said, what they looked like, even if they were male or female. I just knew. I heard crying, " no, no" being repeated. And just horrible, horrible sobbing. I couldn't be in the room, I couldn't hear that. I ran out to the hallway and just fell on the floor sobbing and a nurse came and told me I couldn't cry there. My husband scooped me up and took me to the room the elevators were in and shut that door. I threw-up in a garbage can. They say we either have fight or flight, I went with flight. I had to leave the hospital right then. I didn't want to stay and wait until he was cleaned up so I could see him. I needed to leave, as if it wouldn't be true if I wasn't there. I made sure someone would drive my mom home and I left.
On the way out of the hospital I was still crying and watching people walk by me, they have no idea what has just happened. I kept thinking, how can they just walk by? We got to my in-laws and at the door my mother in law said "so" and my husband just shook his head. She hugged me. I didn't want to leave their house. Again my flight, I thought if I am here it isn't real. I laid in their bed just in a daze, I couldn't sleep but I couldn't move either. My son Levi woke up and I heard him in the other room- his first word that morning was "papa" almost as if he had seen him, and I believe he did. I finally called a few friends and that is when I heard it- I heard myself telling my friends that my dad was dead. I couldn't talk anymore after that.
My sister had come from Lansing to go to my moms and bring her to my house so I had to leave to meet them there. I made my husband go home first and pick up our pajamas and clear all the "go to the hospital" messages off the machine. Again, I wanted to pretend it wasn't true.
When my sister was at our mom's she gave her a bag that the hospital had given her of my dad's belongings…this is a quote from a letter my sister wrote to the judge about that bag…
"My mother handed me a plastic bag full of items and ran away crying.I slowly opened the bag to find his work clothes covered in blood, one shoe, a wallet, and his wedding ring.My first thought was shock and panic when I saw only one shoe in the bag.All I could think of at that moment was "What horrible thing had this person done to Stan to only leave one shoe in the bag."My heart felt such pity and despair for the painful injuries that my stepfather had to endure before he died.I then picked up the wallet, opened it, and began to go through it.There I found business cards and money completely stained brown.It took me a few seconds to realize that those brown stains were from my beloved stepfather's blood!All I could do after that was cry, and feel utterly helpless.I asked myself "What complete suffering had Stan experienced at the hands of this man?"What wounds had he inflicted that had caused Stan's blood to soak thru his clothes, permeate a leather wallet, and finally congeal on the money and business cards."
The injuries that my dad sustained were broken bones, too may to mention but some of the bones such as his legs were thru the skin, his liver was nicked, spleen removed, teeth knocked out, the fatal injury and cause of all the internal bleeding was a 2 inch tear in his heart from impact. The Doctors told us they thought he should have died at the scene but he fought for about 6 ½ hours and died at 5:20am on October 10, 2003.
That week I was in a daze but I have distinct memories burned in my mind forever. I had to help plan a funeral, pick out his suit, we had to decide if he looked good enough for an open casket, walk around a cemetery and pick out his grave, plan what I would say at his funeral, and say my last good-byes. At the funeral home before I saw him for the first time I had to be told what to expect, the crash had banged his face up quite a bit. I will never forget turning the corner into that room it is as if a snapshot forever suck in my head forever. To see your father in a casket, someone who was healthy and happy just days before, I can't even put into words how that feels. But I can tell you this it literally hurts, a pain in your chest as if you heart is literally breaking. When people say they have a hole in their heart it isn't just an emotional feeling but a physical one as well. It's like you can't breathe or you can't swallow, and you can't make it stop.
That pain stayed for a long time, and I can still feel it, it just isn't as constant now. Things don't get better; you just learn how to deal with them. Life never returns to normal, you learn to live with your new "ab-normal life."
The funeral… Sunday thru Wednesday was spent at the funeral home… We had 4 days of visitation which if you have ever had someone close to you die you know is a long time. Tues was my uncles birthday and we couldn’t bury his brother on it. I spent most of this time in the foyer. Every time I would walk into the room and see my dad in a casket it was like I couldn’t breath. I couldn’t bear to see him in a casket. I couldn’t even touch him.
I spoke at his funeral, it was a time to say goodbye, but how do you say goodbye to someone so important, so spectacular? I told a story of the last time I had seen him alive. We had lunch and he was wearing a shirt he wore a lot, one that used to steal out of his closet occasionally and now hangs in mine. That day a button was missing and I teased him about it. His reply was “I know it is gone but I thought I’d just try to make it work.” So at his funeral that is how I said my goodbye…I said, I know you are gone but I am going to try to make it work…
I have tried and I am still trying, it took me about 6 months to even remotely start to feel better plus I was pregnant and had all those crazy emotions going on. I just laid on the couch. I let my son watch TV all day. I didn't get dressed, I hardly ate, I actually lost weight, I couldn't sleep at night. I would play solitaire on the computer all night. It took me a long time to fall asleep before 2. It sounds crazy but I feel guilty for being asleep while my dad was fighting for his life. And when it is dark and quite that's when my brain would reliving every detail. Every injury, everything I heard in court, the nightmares I've had, what I am missing out on, what my kids are missing out on, who is going to die next, how helpless I feel, that I could loose anyone I love at anytime.
For awhile I couldn’t give people directions or ask my husband to stop and pick something up. I thought what if he stops somewhere for me and because of that he is in the wrong place at the right time and I lose him too. If he was even 5 mins late coming home from work I’d be in tears.
After my second son was born I had to stop nursing him so I could take anti depressants because I wasn’t functioning. I was trying I was really trying. I even went to counseling once a week.
But, you see, it wasn’t just having to deal with his death. It was also court dates that drug on for years, and seeing the man that killed him repeatedly as he tried to blame my dad simply because he was on a motorcycle so that meant he had to be reckless. Then, to see him sit and chat with his family as if nothing in his world changed that night. It was knowing he went to his daughter’s graduation and his sons sports; that they could hug him at any moment and being so angry that he got to do all those things and I never get to see my dad again.
It is also the new found role as caretaker to my mother. She has a brain injury and my dad took care of everything for her. With him gone that all fell on me.
I get it, I know people die and I knew more then likely my parents would die before me. But I never thought it would be so soon, he was only 46. I should have had more time. And one of the hardest parts is knowing how he died, every injury and how painful and traumatic his death was. If you ever think about losing a loved one I am sure you hope they go in their sleep or some peaceful painless way. Not having their body broken and then left on the road.
It took me a little over five years but I have finally driven down Davison Road between Center and Genesee where he was killed. I had avoided it. I mean how could I just drive over the spot where my father lost this life? It isn’t a road I will drive down whenever, but now I at least know I can.
I live in Davison so I drive past Center and Genesee road on an almost daily basis. For about a year after my dad was killed every time I was on any road between Genesee and Center I would just cry and think how he never made it to the next intersection.
It is the everyday things that hit the hardest, holidays are hard but for me I stay busy and that helps. But it is times when I hear a song, see a face in a crowd, go past a place I have a memory of my dad at. I have a hard time looking at pictures and home videos. My dad was engulfed in every part of my life and I can't just take him out because he isn't here, it isn't that easy.
My dad and I always had a tradition of going out to lunch together on Sundays after church. That was what I looked forward to the most. And one of the things I miss the most now. Sunday afternoons are always hard now. It was our "catch-up" time since we worked opposite shifts. We blabbed about everything and nothing. And on October 5, 2003, we had our last Sunday dinner. Had I known it was the last, I would have never let him go, I would have asked a million more questions, I would have hugged and kissed him more, well there are too many I would haves to mention them all.
My oldest son Levi, was 2 when my dad was killed. My dad was crazy about him. My dad had told me he wanted a boy, someone to help with the yard work he would joke. Levi doesn't remember being with his papa he only remembers the stories I have told him.
Then there is Wyatt. I was pregnant with him when my dad was killed. He has my dad’s middle name and initials inverted. Wyatt won’t have any memories of his grandpa and none I can tell him. And my dad and Wyatt would have been best buds for sure. My dad loved video games and Wyatt is a video game addict. He can beat entire games on his own and he is 4yrs old.
And now I have a little girl Lucy, there are no memories of her and her papa for me to share with her either.
So we get balloons and on the day of his death and his birthday we have dinner at his favorite restaurant and we let balloons go from the cemetery. Those are the memories my kids get of their grandpa. And he would have been a spectacular grandpa. I don’t know about you but I have a TON of memories with my grandparents and my kids don’t get that. That makes me not only sad but angry.
Angry that because one person thought more of themselves then anyone else on this planet, my family's lives have to completely change. Someone who had had previous alcohol related driving issues and knew the consequences but choose to chance fate anyways. That makes me angry. Will my anger go away. I don't know, I don't know if I want it to. What I want more then anything is my dad back. That's not possible so I wanted justice, I didn't really get that either. So now I want to make a difference.
My dad’s favorite group was Kansas. At his funeral that is the only music we played. A line from a song is “When my life starts to fade, I can only hope that every choice I’ve made will endure and carry on into the coming dawn.” I take that line to mean that my dad raised me well and since he isn’t here I have to be the person he raised me to be and to make that difference.
My husband asks me how I can do this every month. Why I would want to relive it. He can’t even read through my speech it is too hard for him. So I tell him, I don't want anyone to endure this senseless tragedy. Hopefully I made a difference to someone and my dad’s death wasn’t for nothing, he hasn’t been forgotten about.
So please learn from his death and make a plan to ensure you never drink and drive. You don't want your family to be sent home with your bloodstained clothes or have to explain to a 2 year old that Papa can't come and play. Next time you see a balloon floating away remember Levi, Wyatt, and Lucy and how that is the only way they can feel close to their papa.
Here is a LINK to a video of him. It also contains crash scene photos from the police department.
May 18, 1957- October 10, 2003
Praying for you, friend. Thank you for being such an extraordinary advocate.
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