It was approximately 8:45 pm, Wes and I were getting ready to call it a night since Wes has to wake up at 4:30am to go to work each morning. We weren't worried that the kids were late getting home, because usually they stop at Dairy Queen after Karen gets off her job, when suddenly the phone rings.

Wes picked up the phone and I saw his face pale, I asked what was wrong and he said that there has been an accident and all he was told is that Doug was OK and Karen was unconscious, they were taken to University Hospital of New Mexico, at the Trauma Center. The minute I heard UNM Hospital I knew something was wrong, you see, Rio Rancho has a fine hospital in the area, only something dreadful would go to UNM Hospital. I started shaking like a leaf and we called our neighbor and friend to drive us there, such was our fear.

When we got there we asked about our kids at the reception window, and were told to wait. A Social Worker came out and asked us for the names of the children and I got this horrible feeling when I asked: "Are they alive?" and her answer was they haven't identified the victims yet. When I heard the word "IDENTIFY" I knew one or both were dead. I blacked out falling hard onto the tile floor and vaguely remembered my husband shaking me and blowing into my face. I vaguely remember being taken inside the hospital, on a gurney and being in a cubicle of a room.

I must have come to reality when this thin female doctor tells us that Doug is alive but Karen has passed away. My God, I felt my whole soul tear into pieces as I started screaming at the top of my lungs. The screams couldn't stop to give way to tears, I felt I was dying a million times such was the pain.

Only when the same doctor, my husband tells me, came with a tray with a shot of tranquilizers which was given to me without my knowledge, I quieted down. Every thing was a blur, I hardly recall one moment after another in the surge of the following events.

I was in shock and went through the events in a robot like motion. The only things I remember was the sight of my son in the emergency room with blood all over his chest and face and the doctor telling us the extent of his injuries. Doug said only a few words, which broke my heart. "Mom it was not my fault, Is Karen OK?" I lied, and said she was Ok. I knew if I told him she died, he may not have survived the long urgent surgery that same night.

We were ushered out and they took us to see our daughter, it was then that I burst into tears. I will never forget this image, and until this day I have nightmares about seeing my child only fifteen years old laying on a table, wrapped in a white blanket with her beautiful long golden brown hair fanned out around her head, eyes closed and still with tubes hanging from her mouth. I touched her, and she was so cold... I begged the people in there with us to please bring more blankets because she hated being cold. I remember the tears silently rolling on my face as I caressed her hands, her hair, told her how much I loved her and said good bye.

I guess I must have drifted back into my world of shock because I do not remember the pastor that prayed with us and the trip back home, where we were up all night calling our family back in Florida and hearing them scream their anguish over the phone.

I barely remember my dear friends making every thing easier on us by picking up members of the family at the airport, bringing in food and even keeping everything so neat and clean. All I can say is thank you. Next morning we rushed to the hospital, Doug had six hours of surgery and was in intensive care. A metal rod was inserted in his right femur, from the pelvis to his knee and as he recovered from the anesthesia all he asked..."Is Karen OK?" Again I lied as I held his hand, but later on with the help of a counselor, I told him the truth.

He silently took in the news, not a tear came down, he, I guess, went into a state of denial with the help of the morphine that kept him asleep most of the time. I truly don't know how my husband was able to keep his strength for me, I was close to being a zombie just watching things unfold around me, without comprehending or remembering all that was taking place.

Next thing I remember was the funeral services which again I thank the director for arranging everything for us. Another memory that breaks me into pieces is seeing my daughter in the coffin, that body in there looked so sad and almost like a wax museum figure, it is true that one's soul is what makes us look happy and beautiful. That was simply a shell of Karen and once again I couldn't control myself, I cried a river of tears, that will never, for as long as I live, stop flowing.

Doug, my poor son made sure that even in pain he made his wishes heard, which was that he would come home for the funeral and go back on Monday for more surgery. Doug wanted to see his sister one last time, and as he was wheeled on his wheelchair to Karen's coffin, that's when he fell apart and started babbling how he loves her and how she was his best friend. The funeral parlor was full beyond capacity, I heard that close to a thousand people showed up, friends, teachers, family and all of those she has touched their lives with her kindness and her community services.

For the next few days our home was full of Karen's and Doug's friends, giving us company and comfort while Doug was undergoing more surgery. I am very thankful for my dear friend Pam who sacrificed her work and her family to stay close by us to help.

You may question why I decided to write about our pain, the reason is that, any parent can become victims of a drugged or drunk driver, not only a loved one dies but your whole life is destroyed. There is no going on, you are always grieving your child. True, one can continue living, working and going through the motions of life, but life has changed forever.

Margaret

Please visit Karen's Memorial at: www.ferraromotoart.com/karen/ and our DWI Impact Panel's home page at: www.impactdwi.org