Imagine going to sleep, waking up and finding out you killed somebody.
That's exactly what happened to me.
Two years ago, I was drunk and fell asleep at the wheel. I'm not trying to make excuses.
But I never ever would have done such a thing on purpose. And if there were
some way I could go back and change it, I would.
In fact, I've been sober ever since.
Now I'm paying for my crime by being incarcerated two weeks a year for the
next 10 years.
This blog follows my journey afterward, trying to put my life back together in
between spending a week in jail at Christmas and at Father's Day each year.
In about a month, I will be facing high school students again to tell them about my tragic mistake.
It's always a sobering experience to relive the last days of my 20-year career with alcohol and drugs, culminating with the insertion of my keys into my ignition one more time for a ride down I-40 West that resulted in Eddy McCreery's death.
It sounds like it would be hard for me to do, but it's not.
I have told my story so many times in the last three years that it comes naturally.
The biggest thing it does is that it gets me out of myself.
I need that so desperately right now.
Perry Baggs III, the love of my life for 12 years, died two months ago.
It's all I can do to put one foot in front of the other.
I know how the McCreerys must have felt when their loved one was ripped out of their lives in an instant since that's what happened to me.
...
Whenever I go on these speaking engagements, I share my experience, strength and hope.
My experience this year will be different since the one person who loved me as much as my children do is no longer alive.
Dealing with a sudden death of a loved one is hard, but losing a significant other is a whole other kind of melancholy.
It's unbearable. It's debilitating, and no one around me understands what I am going through.
What I hope to weave into my delivery to the teenagers this year is that I know what it must be like for the McCreerys.
They will never get to pick up the phone and call Eddy.
He can't go out to eat with them anymore.
There will be no Christmases or Father's Days with his daughter anymore.
Death separates us from our loved ones.
I separated Eddy's family from him by causing his death.
And now, I've been separated from Perry until God calls me home.
...
I hope my suffering will make my presentation more compelling.
God gave me this testimony for a reason.
I intend to use it to tell every teenager I can about what alcohol and drugs did to my life and to the lives of Eddy McCreery and his family members.
Some cheap Chardonnay and half of a one-milligram Xanax cost us all.
It's my fault.
At some point in nearly three years, I had to decide whether I was going to lay down and die over the guilt I feel over Eddy's death, or go on living somehow, someway.
I chose the latter.
...
Each day, I make myself get out of bed, even though I'd rather lay there under the covers, all snuggled up so that I can grieve and hurt over Perry.
There's something to be said about walking through the pain.
God has a way of helping those who choose to help themselves.
In turn, we pass it along by helping other people.
That's part of what keeps me sober, one day at a time.
I pray that the students I speak to this year won't have to go through what I have to develop this wisdom.
I hope they apply my story to their hearts and minds, and that they tell somebody they care about.
I pray this prayer in Jesus' name.
Amen.
Friday, September 21, 2012
Sunday, September 16, 2012
My 20-year high school reunion
Imagine going to sleep, waking up and finding out you killed somebody.
That's exactly what happened to me.
Two years ago, I was drunk and fell asleep at the wheel. I'm not trying to make excuses.
But I never ever would have done such a thing on purpose. And if there were
some way I could go back and change it, I would.
In fact, I've been sober ever since.
Now I'm paying for my crime by being incarcerated two weeks a year for the
next 10 years.
This blog follows my journey afterward, trying to put my life back together in
between spending a week in jail at Christmas and at Father's Day each year.
It's been nearly three years since I made a fatal mistake that took Eddy McCreery's life, and changed the lives of two families forever.
And tonight, I celebrated my 20-year high school reunion, clean and sober
It was empowering to be in a room with a fully stocked bar, seeing folks with various concoctions of all kinds in their hands, knowing that today I don't have to pick up a drink.
For me in my recovery today, there's nothing a drink or drug would make any better.
Not that there wasn't temptation.
I spotted a lonely bottle of Chambord - my favorite, expensive raspberry liqueur - on the bar surrounded by glasses of various shapes and sizes.
And I remembered what it was like to make my famous purple hooters. A couple I know was enjoying Blue Moons.
The last three years of my drinking career flashed before my eyes.
For most of my teens and early 20s, I was really shy. That is, unless I was under the influence of something.
Then, I could talk to you about anything under the sun: life, love, fears, hopes and dreams. And I did.
In my thirties, I was going out to bars and socializing, Then, I was driving home.
I thought about everything last night. I thought about how it was initially fun to drink and use marijuana.
I thought about the last three years of my active addiction, which were one big drunken haze and cloud of smoke.
Finally, my mind went there.
...
I saw myself walking down the street, jumping into my car and driving away. I remembered how I couldn't read the interstate signs, and how eventually I saw a sign that said "Nashville Airport," and I knew I was going the wrong way.I fell asleep at the wheel just for a second. Then, there was an impact.
I knew I had hit something, but when my car came to a rest on the side of the road, I didn't see anything and I drove away.
I ended up at Opry Mills Mall, where I passed out again at the wheel. I woke up to handcuffs being placed on my wrists.
Detained in a patrol car, I could see the officers shining lights on my car. I didn't know why they were doing that.
They had me do field-sobriety tasks, which they said I failed.
An officer asked me a bunch of questions.
And at some point, the police decided to transport me to Nashville General Hospital to get a blood-alcohol test to determine the level of my intoxication.
It was at that time that I asked the officer, "Am I being arrested for DUI?"
The officer said, "No, you're being arrested for vehicular homicide by intoxication and leaving the scene of a fatality."
I went into shock like a deer in the headlights.
As soon as I got to the police station, there was a television on, and it was playing a story all about me and my charges.
It was like my worst nightmare was being played out for all of Nashville to see.
...
I eventually made it home to my mom and dad's, and laid in a fetal position on the couch all day.
In the next two weeks, four news stories about me and my charges played on all the television news stations, before I made my initial court appearance.
I was having it rough.
Not only did a man die and his family's life was altered forever, my life and my family's lives were also forever changed.
I got suspended from work. My award-winning journalism career was gone overnight.
The kids had to go live with their dad since I no longer had any income to pay for the rent and gas to take them to school in White House.
My car was impounded, and three years later, it's still there.
I lost the home I had rented for 12 years because the money to pay rent was no longer available.
Everything I knew as my normal was gone overnight.
After two weeks of having to deal with the fallout of my actions and the fact that I had likely killed someone and didn't remember it, I just wanted to end my life, too.
I told my parents I wanted to slit my wrists.
They took me to Parthenon Pavilion. It saved my life.
There, I was diagnosed with a couple of mental illnesses, for which I receive treatment. And there I learned about the program of recovery for the first time.
...
A couple of people brought a recovery meeting to the hospital.
They shared their experience, strength and hope with me. They began to tell me things like, "Get a sponsor. Do 90 meetings in 90 days. Read the Big Book. Pray and meditate. Try to help out another alcoholic or addict."
I have done these things to the best of my ability for the last 34 months.
On my own, I went to rehab at Cumberland Heights. I went to inpatient and outpatient programs there.
I learned about the disease of alcoholism, how it's a disease of the mind and the body that primarily centers in the mind.
Oh, and there's a thing called the phenomenon of craving.
That's where you take a substance into your body. Then, your body just craves more and more of that substance before you put it into your body again.
You become like a hamster on the wheel, chasing your addiction around.
For me, ending a man's life landed me on Step 0.
That's "this s*** has to stop"
I liken it to being dunked head-first into a creek. You know how cold that is?
Well, that's what happened to me by having to get sober after causing someone's death.
...
A miracle happened this week that allowed me to be a part of the 20-year high school reunion at all.
You see, I am not supposed to be in any kind of a bar. I signed probation paperwork stating that I had to stay away from such establishments.
And I had my first meeting this week with a brand-new probation officer.
Last year, I was on Community Corrections, an intensive probation program. This month, I started state probation, which is a little less strict.
I had to buy my tickets in the time between completing one program and beginning another. I thought to myself, 'Should I go and hope I don't get caught?'
Ultimately, I did the right thing, and asked my probation officer for her permission. She, in turn, asked for Judge Mark Fishburn's consent.
He e-mailed my p.o. the same day, and let her know that I could go. He said, 'You can go. Just don't drink.'
"Hey. No problem," I thought.
Thinking about spending the next 10 years of my life in a cell is a big incentive to stay straight.
But today, I also want to be sober as well.
...
I thought about all of this during various points of the night.
I actually got to share my testimony with a select few people at the reunion, wherever it was appropriate.
Hopefully, I got some people to think.
Everybody thinks they're invincible when it comes to drinking and driving.
I always did.
"It won't happen to me," they say.
I'm here to tell you, "It can happen. It DID happen to me."
As looked around, I saw toasts being made.
There was the general merriment that goes along with an alcohol-fueled party of any sort.
Everybody just loves everybody.
And that's great.
I ain't hating on nobody.
If I hadn't had my accident, I would have been one of them. I guarantee you that.
I couldn't help but wonder how many people were actually riding in a cab after leaving the event.
That's the responsible thing to do, unless you have a sober ride.
When you drive impaired, you're taking your life and lives of everyone else on the road into your hands.
Trust me.
That's not the kind of responsibility you want to sign up for.
I found myself praying silently that everyone would make it home safely, without accidents or DUIs.
And I was proud to be a part of the group.
I was grateful that I didn't have to compromise my morals, my new way of life, to be a part of the crowd.
Today, my life is about being sober, one day at a time.
It's a wonderful life. It really is.
If you want sobriety, there are three things to remember:
Don't drink.
Reach up for God. Then, reach out for other people.
Amen.
...
That's exactly what happened to me.
Two years ago, I was drunk and fell asleep at the wheel. I'm not trying to make excuses.
But I never ever would have done such a thing on purpose. And if there were
some way I could go back and change it, I would.
In fact, I've been sober ever since.
Now I'm paying for my crime by being incarcerated two weeks a year for the
next 10 years.
This blog follows my journey afterward, trying to put my life back together in
between spending a week in jail at Christmas and at Father's Day each year.
It's been nearly three years since I made a fatal mistake that took Eddy McCreery's life, and changed the lives of two families forever.
And tonight, I celebrated my 20-year high school reunion, clean and sober
It was empowering to be in a room with a fully stocked bar, seeing folks with various concoctions of all kinds in their hands, knowing that today I don't have to pick up a drink.
For me in my recovery today, there's nothing a drink or drug would make any better.
Not that there wasn't temptation.
I spotted a lonely bottle of Chambord - my favorite, expensive raspberry liqueur - on the bar surrounded by glasses of various shapes and sizes.
And I remembered what it was like to make my famous purple hooters. A couple I know was enjoying Blue Moons.
The last three years of my drinking career flashed before my eyes.
For most of my teens and early 20s, I was really shy. That is, unless I was under the influence of something.
Then, I could talk to you about anything under the sun: life, love, fears, hopes and dreams. And I did.
In my thirties, I was going out to bars and socializing, Then, I was driving home.
I thought about everything last night. I thought about how it was initially fun to drink and use marijuana.
I thought about the last three years of my active addiction, which were one big drunken haze and cloud of smoke.
Finally, my mind went there.
...
I saw myself walking down the street, jumping into my car and driving away. I remembered how I couldn't read the interstate signs, and how eventually I saw a sign that said "Nashville Airport," and I knew I was going the wrong way.I fell asleep at the wheel just for a second. Then, there was an impact.
I knew I had hit something, but when my car came to a rest on the side of the road, I didn't see anything and I drove away.
I ended up at Opry Mills Mall, where I passed out again at the wheel. I woke up to handcuffs being placed on my wrists.
Detained in a patrol car, I could see the officers shining lights on my car. I didn't know why they were doing that.
They had me do field-sobriety tasks, which they said I failed.
An officer asked me a bunch of questions.
And at some point, the police decided to transport me to Nashville General Hospital to get a blood-alcohol test to determine the level of my intoxication.
It was at that time that I asked the officer, "Am I being arrested for DUI?"
The officer said, "No, you're being arrested for vehicular homicide by intoxication and leaving the scene of a fatality."
I went into shock like a deer in the headlights.
As soon as I got to the police station, there was a television on, and it was playing a story all about me and my charges.
It was like my worst nightmare was being played out for all of Nashville to see.
...
I eventually made it home to my mom and dad's, and laid in a fetal position on the couch all day.
In the next two weeks, four news stories about me and my charges played on all the television news stations, before I made my initial court appearance.
I was having it rough.
Not only did a man die and his family's life was altered forever, my life and my family's lives were also forever changed.
I got suspended from work. My award-winning journalism career was gone overnight.
The kids had to go live with their dad since I no longer had any income to pay for the rent and gas to take them to school in White House.
My car was impounded, and three years later, it's still there.
I lost the home I had rented for 12 years because the money to pay rent was no longer available.
Everything I knew as my normal was gone overnight.
After two weeks of having to deal with the fallout of my actions and the fact that I had likely killed someone and didn't remember it, I just wanted to end my life, too.
I told my parents I wanted to slit my wrists.
They took me to Parthenon Pavilion. It saved my life.
There, I was diagnosed with a couple of mental illnesses, for which I receive treatment. And there I learned about the program of recovery for the first time.
...
A couple of people brought a recovery meeting to the hospital.
They shared their experience, strength and hope with me. They began to tell me things like, "Get a sponsor. Do 90 meetings in 90 days. Read the Big Book. Pray and meditate. Try to help out another alcoholic or addict."
I have done these things to the best of my ability for the last 34 months.
On my own, I went to rehab at Cumberland Heights. I went to inpatient and outpatient programs there.
I learned about the disease of alcoholism, how it's a disease of the mind and the body that primarily centers in the mind.
Oh, and there's a thing called the phenomenon of craving.
That's where you take a substance into your body. Then, your body just craves more and more of that substance before you put it into your body again.
You become like a hamster on the wheel, chasing your addiction around.
For me, ending a man's life landed me on Step 0.
That's "this s*** has to stop"
I liken it to being dunked head-first into a creek. You know how cold that is?
Well, that's what happened to me by having to get sober after causing someone's death.
...
A miracle happened this week that allowed me to be a part of the 20-year high school reunion at all.
You see, I am not supposed to be in any kind of a bar. I signed probation paperwork stating that I had to stay away from such establishments.
And I had my first meeting this week with a brand-new probation officer.
Last year, I was on Community Corrections, an intensive probation program. This month, I started state probation, which is a little less strict.
I had to buy my tickets in the time between completing one program and beginning another. I thought to myself, 'Should I go and hope I don't get caught?'
Ultimately, I did the right thing, and asked my probation officer for her permission. She, in turn, asked for Judge Mark Fishburn's consent.
He e-mailed my p.o. the same day, and let her know that I could go. He said, 'You can go. Just don't drink.'
"Hey. No problem," I thought.
Thinking about spending the next 10 years of my life in a cell is a big incentive to stay straight.
But today, I also want to be sober as well.
...
I thought about all of this during various points of the night.
I actually got to share my testimony with a select few people at the reunion, wherever it was appropriate.
Hopefully, I got some people to think.
Everybody thinks they're invincible when it comes to drinking and driving.
I always did.
"It won't happen to me," they say.
I'm here to tell you, "It can happen. It DID happen to me."
As looked around, I saw toasts being made.
There was the general merriment that goes along with an alcohol-fueled party of any sort.
Everybody just loves everybody.
And that's great.
I ain't hating on nobody.
If I hadn't had my accident, I would have been one of them. I guarantee you that.
I couldn't help but wonder how many people were actually riding in a cab after leaving the event.
That's the responsible thing to do, unless you have a sober ride.
When you drive impaired, you're taking your life and lives of everyone else on the road into your hands.
Trust me.
That's not the kind of responsibility you want to sign up for.
I found myself praying silently that everyone would make it home safely, without accidents or DUIs.
And I was proud to be a part of the group.
I was grateful that I didn't have to compromise my morals, my new way of life, to be a part of the crowd.
Today, my life is about being sober, one day at a time.
It's a wonderful life. It really is.
If you want sobriety, there are three things to remember:
Don't drink.
Reach up for God. Then, reach out for other people.
Amen.
...
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