Quite rarely, I remember things about my father, nearly everything is a blur, although, I do obtain one crystal clear memory. It appeared in my dreams throughout elementary school. It’s dark in the apartment, lit by only a few lamps and the light from the television. I see my dad. It’s like looking in the mirror. We have the same facial expressions and the same eyes. He stands in the kitchen doorway, smiling and asking me what kind of ice cream I’d like. As a two-year-old girl who was obsessed with the color pink, I wanted only strawberry ice cream. Looking around his apartment I see the lava lamp, it sparks my interest immediately. All of the colors swirling around in one place astonish me. My dad finally emerges from the kitchen; with a white bowl of bright pink strawberry ice cream, I am elated.

I was a shy little girl, so the majority of the night I hid near my mom and peered at my father from afar. Little did I know that this night would be the last time I would get to see my dad, the last time I’d be able to feel the father-daughter bond, the last time he’d pick me up and hug me to say hello, the last time I’d see him alive.
I woke up on that hot morning in July 2002 to hear, “Alexis, Papa got in an accident, he’s in heaven with the angels now.” He was twenty-three.

I didn’t want to ride in a car for months after he died. I didn’t realize back then what losing my dad meant; it meant I was never going to be a daddy’s girl, I’d never attend a father-daughter dance, my dad would never give me away at my wedding or hold his grandchild. Losing- wait, having a drunk driver kill my father affects me more now than it did when I was nearly three.


An uncle described simply is the brother of your mother or father, in my case it was my mother’s brother, but he was more than just family. He was my best friend. My Uncle Joe taught me many things. He taught me how to fish, how to face my fears, but most importantly to do what I love. When he looked at me and laughed, his curly hair that had grown too long, bounced with every laugh. His eyes lit up when he smiled. The countless things Joe and I did together are memories I will forever hold dear, but those eight years were taken away in one split second.

I stayed at my grandparent’s house the night Joe was killed. I was in bed just looking at the stars on my ceiling when I heard Joe enter the house. I snuck out of my room and sat wrapped in my blanket in the hallway. He opened the fridge and drank the orange juice straight from the carton. My grandfather told him to stay home for the night, explaining it was late and Joe looked tired. Joe being the independent man he was at twenty-three decided to leave again. That’s the last time anyone saw Joe alive. A drunk driver crossed into his lane, forcing Joe to swerve to avoid hitting the drunk driver head on, but in return jumped a curb. The car flew into a building head on and he was killed instantly, at twenty three, just like my father. Losing Joe crushed me. I didn’t know what to do without him. He was with me most every moment of my life and now he was gone. At his memorial there was a slideshow of pictures. I couldn’t bear it for more than a few seconds. I broke down crying and ran to my mom. We sat outside; crying with each other, knowing Joe was taken away too soon.

If the two drivers made different decisions, I would still have my dad and my uncle.

Take a stand against drunk driving, you could be saving the life of someone’s dad or uncle, or even your own; This I believe.