Placing Blame

I think we're all inclined to do it.  When we're hurting, we don't want to accept it's just a natural part of life or we direct our hurt to anger and that anger has to go somewhere so we want to blame someone because then at least we have an outlet.

One evening, around Thanksgiving in 1995, Bob talked with his dad.   Their discussion mainly concerned that the doctor had told him he could start driving again after a few months break due to his health.  He had lived a hard live and by the age of 71, he was not in the best of health.  Bob argued just a bit with him, concerned that he really wasn't quite up to par to be driving again.

The very next afternoon we got the call.  His father was being transported to a first rate trauma hospital downtown.  He had been in a traffic accident.  He was awake, alert and talking at the scene.

This was before the days of "everyone has a cell phone", so because I was on the way home, I didn't know until I got home around 6 or so and Bob had left a handwritten message on the counter.  I think I actually still have the piece of paper somewhere.

It read:  "Dad's been in an accident, I'm going to Wishard (hospital)."   I saw the note and was reading it when Bob's teenage daughter walked in, excited about her new job, which would help her with her college major.  I listened to her while trying not to be appear concerned.  When she was done, I called Bob on his new cell phone.

When Bob answered I was standing right in front of two teenage girls.  I heard Bob say, "he's not going to make it."  The combination of my ears not wanting to hear that and not wanting to repeat what he said in front of the girls left me speechless.  My non-response left Bob a little more than irritated.

He said, "Did you HEAR what I said?"  I said, "Well I think I did, but repeat it."

He did.  The words didn't change.

I told him I was on the way.  He told me I wouldn't make it in time.   I didn't care.  I had lost my own father just a few short years before that and I was not going to not be there.

Twenty-five minutes later I was running into Wishard's emergency room.  Wishard is known for first rate trauma care but mainly for providing care for the poor and uninsured.

I found Bob in a hallway, just a couple minutes after the family had been told he had passed away.

It took days before we could find anyone who knew the details of the accident and actually got a copy of the police report which we were certain would tell us how his dad caused the accident.

We were a little more than shocked to find out that his father had been travelling through a green light downtown when a woman ran a red light and t-boned him.  While he was alert at the scene, the accident ruptured his spleen and, although only 5 minutes away from the hospital, the docs were not able to save him.

The police report made it all very clear.  The lady lived in Ohio and had been at IU Med Center downtown, another excellent hospital, right off the interstate near Wishard.   She had missed the red light that was placed immediately before the ramps.

Driving the route she would have been travelling you can see that unless you are very familiar with the area, you would be concentrating on the interstate entrance signs and immediately before the signs is a traffic signal.  The placement of the two together is an accident waiting to happen.  I'm sure this wasn't the first deadly accident at that intersection and certainly not the last.

Undoubtedly, she was not only unfamiliar with the area, but trying to make sure she got on the correct ramp and completely missed the red light that resulted in my father-in-law's death.  She wasn't driving recklessly, she wasn't under the influence, she simply made a mistake that I'm sure haunts her today.

At the funeral home, we were surprised that we found an arrangement with her name on it.

Writing the "Thank You" notes afterward was split up among the "kids".  Since we had the police report, we also had her address.

Bob and I had a long discussion talking about the accident and what that woman must have been feeling.   She didn't go out that morning and decide she wanted to kill anyone.  She didn't go out that morning and drink all day and get behind a wheel and tempt fate.  She went to visit someone in a hospital and upon leaving made a horrible mistake that killed my father-in-law.

Fortunately, no one in the family wanted to play the Blame Game.  It was a mistake.  Nothing more, nothing less.  It was an accident, it wasn't an "on purpose".

I wrote the note to her as Bob and I talked.  Although I don't recall the exact wording it went something like this:

Dear ......

Thank you for the lovely arrangement.

Sometimes in life there are tragic events and we want you to know that we believe this is one of those times for our family and yours.

More than anything we wish you peace for this Christmas.

The son and daughters of.....

It would have been easy to be angry, it would have been easy to place the blame as clearly Bob's dad was legally crossing the intersection on a green light and this woman, in the wrong place at the wrong time just missed seeing a red light.   But, these many years later, I am more than certain that she relives that moment more often than we think about this accident.  I am sure it will haunt her all of her days and I wish that were not the case.  We think about his life, she thinks about his death.