Dedicated in the memory of Stephen M. O'Grady
Son, Brother, Teacher, Mentor, Hero and Friend

Essay By Kerri O'Hara

I sat, tears streaming down my face, and I couldn't figure out why I was crying. Nothing bad had happened to me; everyone I loved was still a part of my life, so why was I crying? This is the first time in eighteen years that I had been faced with reality. Until this point everything in my life had been perfect-like a storybook. Now I realized life wasn't perfect; nor was it going to be. Maybe it was this realization that was making me cry.

His hands were reaching out to me from the dark bowels of depression for help and understanding. It had been five and a half years, yet he still needed someone to let him grieve and provide the understanding that he was looking for. His eyes were bloodshot; I was hyperventilating; he was crying. I was baffled. How could someone so big, so strong, be hurting so badly. I felt so tiny and safe wrapped in his arms but now it was my arms that had to be the source of support and comfort. I couldn't help. This made me feel worse; I knew that had the situation been reversed he would have been there for me, holding me and consoling me until everything seemed okay and I stopped crying. I jumped off his warm and soft bed that now felt like a rock and ran to my car. I can still vividly remember the mist in the cold spring air hitting my face, the way the wetness of the grass seeped between my toes, the dinging that meant the car door was open. What ordinarily seemed like an endless ride was now shortened to what felt like minutes. I ran through the front door of my house, up the stairs, and directly into the bathroom. As I slammed the door behind me I remember someone, perhaps my mom, telling me that he had called, three times, I ignored the message. I felt like my head was full of water; everything kept echoing. The water pounding on my back from the shower was freezing, my legs gave out and as I fell my knees hit the cold, hard tile floor I became hysterical once more.

That night will forever be vivid in my mind. He had lost his best friend to drunk driving five and a half years ago yet he had never accepted the fact that he was gone. He left the funeral and never went to the grave; he didn't need the closure he later explained to me. Drunk driving-it's one of those things that you know happen just not where you live, yet it had and in a short time it would strike my life personally.

I have to start by backing up; I think that will make it easier for you to understand my reaction to my boyfriend at the time, Keith. I live in a happy and supportive home-- parents, siblings, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins always around, and I know everyone in the little seaside town in which I grew up. Until high school, I was sheltered in Catholic and attended church every Sunday; I have friends of all ages and am a happy and healthy individual. I love life and even when things don't go my way I can make the best out of it. This was different. I had never had to deal with such a major problem and I had no idea what to do, so instead I flipped out. Over the next few months I learned how to express my feelings and deal with the problems I face in life. Anyway back to my paper.

Keith confused me; he seems like such a strong person, even a bit cocky when you first meet him, but I would learn that this is only a cover to what has happened to him in his past. December 11, 1993, in the early hours of the morning a man by the name of Anthony Mills was intoxicated, well over the legal limit, and took to the wheel of his car. An unsuspecting teenager, Stephen Ross, high school sophomore with a promising tennis career ahead of him started to walk home from a party not far from where he lived. As he walked across a small stone bridge, less than a mile from his house, where today a memorial lays in his name, Mills hit and killed him then proceeded on not knowing what he had done. One driver, one person killed, hundreds of lives changed forever. I was only eleven years old when this accident occurred and remember it vaguely; never did I know that someday it would have such a drastic impact on me. Five years later I was forced to look back on this event and to this day it remains a part of each breath I take. I strongly believe in fate. Without fate I would have never crossed paths with Keith, who taught me not only how to cope but to strive from what happens to you. Without that strength I would have never been able to handle what was just down the road.

As I have mentioned before I attended Catholic School as a young girl. The school, which I became a part of, was small, close and remains and probably will always remain as the center of my heart. I cannot explain in words what the place is like. Anyone who is a part of it would tell you the same, but unless you have experienced it yourself you will never fully realize what I am talking about. The school is like a family, the teachers like your parents, your friends like your siblings but much, much more. I grew to love each person I encountered there and they became a part of me. It is said that your life is one giant masterpiece of art and that each person you meet contributes to it in some way. Yet the day that I left that place my masterpiece was so vibrant with color that it is nearly impossible to change it.

One of my teachers over the years was a young male teacher by the name of Stephen O'Grady. He could make the most solemn and serious person instantaneously break into laughter. When he walked into the room everyone's face would light up to see what comedy he would bring to them in the short hour of gym class. He used to say things like, "Isn't he a beautiful creature," and call our somewhat flaky classmate, Anna, "Anna Banana." One of my most fond memories of him was the day that I wore a sunflower barrette in my hair. As I was diligently doing my class work he snuck up behind me and was pretending to water my barrette. After a while I noticed that my classmates were laughing and as I turned to see what it was that they were laughing at Mr. O'Grady bent over and with the most serious face asked me, "Hey Ker, do you think that if I keep watering your head there will be weeds growing out of your ears by lunchtime?" From that day forth neither I nor any of my classmates have forgotten that story. I know that it may not seem like much to you but it makes me smile and brings a tear to my eye every time I recall it. You see in the fall of my senior year, when you are supposed to feel like you are on top of the world, Mr. O'Grady was killed by a drunk driver. I remember the day I found out like it was yesterday. I had just returned home from the mall where I was looking for a sheet for senior toga day. I was so excited that I had found the forest green sheet that I had imagined wearing everyday since I had seen the seniors carry on the tradition freshman year. I never got to wear my toga. Toga day was on the day of his funeral. Just as I ran into the house the phone rang. On the other end was Monique.

"Hey what's up? I was just about to call youguess what??" I energetically screamed.
"Umm, Ker I have been trying to get a hold of you for hours, someone died."
"Am I going to cry?" I asked. I hate to cry.
"Kerri, Mr. O'Grady died last nighthe was killed by a drunk driver."

After that I didn't know what to do, how to act, what to say, so I cried instead. I wept continuously for hours. How could this happen? Why? I couldn't understand nor had I fully comprehended the meaning of death. The next day I went to school only to break down first block and deal with the harsh and unnecessary comments of rude and heartless people who thought that I was being a baby. After all, he was "only a teacher." Only a teacher, huh? Unfortunately, not everyone is lucky enough to experience the closeness of a school which I had. The week was like hell. I had never been to a wake before and this was probably the most grim. Because of one thoughtless person who killed someone so close to so many people we had to suffer the effects of an open casket after Mr. O'Grady's head had been crushed when his car flipped over. As I knelt down to the casket to pray I began to cry and then sob. It didn't remotely look like him; it looked like a fake head out of a horror movie. I froze and couldn't move. I tried so hard to pray. I wanted to thank god for letting him live this long and letting him be a part of my life but all I could get out was I love you and I love you andMy friend who was knelt beside me lifted and pulled me away. Mr. O'Grady's sister, who had been so strong throughout the wake, looked at me and began to cry. I never before had met her, yet she gave me one of the warmest hugs of comfort that I have ever received. The funeral was no better. I along with so many of my old classmates, teachers, parents of friends, and priests gathered in a small, beautiful chapel to mourn the loss of such an unbelievable individual. There were children there that had been part of his championship Red's Little League team in their uniforms and there were hundreds of kids from the boys and girls club which he ran. I watched as a young boy, no older than eleven and trying to hold his tears, walked up and placed his uniform over the casket. Now it was my turn to say goodbye. I knelt down to place a delicate sunflower on his casket. People say that with time fades and judging from the fact that I am crying as I write this, my pain hasn't.

I have seen what drunk driving does to a best friend; I have seen what it does to a family; I have seen what it does to community; and I have seen what it does to me. It is one of the most horrific of crimes. Lives taken much tooyoung, they had so much to live for and so much to experience. They will never be able to get married or hear the footsteps of their first child. They will never again be able to see a sunset or feel a sun shower on warm summer day. They will never again be able to hug you when you need it most, or look at you and smile when you are just about to give up. They are gone forever. It seems so final; I guess that's because it is. I still have not realized the full meaning of death and I don't know if I ever will. I feel like they are always with you, like they are looking down on you, but that won't bring them back, nothing will. They are gone forever all because someone had to drink and drive.