Jeff's Story

I don’t think I know any of you here tonight.  Sometimes I do.  We have lived in this county for over 20 years and my husband and I raised 3 kids here.  Unfortunately, we buried our oldest son.  This is why I am here tonight.

Jeff was 24 years old when he was faced with the same decision you had to make about drinking and driving.  Like you, he chose to drive.  He thought he could do it.  He was wrong.  That decision cost him his life and it forever changed the lives of everyone around him.

Before I tell you about the day my son died, I want to tell you a little bit about how he lived his life.

Jeffery Thomas Abel was our first born son, our middle child.  I will always remember the joy in my heart when I saw that name on his birth certificate. There are no words to describe the pain I felt when I saw it on his death certificate.

When Jeff was big enough to walk, he didn’t… he RAN.  He ran full throttle like he was trying to get everything he could out of this life, as fast as he could. He had a passion for music.  I know most young people do, but Jeff’s passion started early.  His daddy says he was born with it.  His dad, uncle and grandfather all play the guitar and music has always been a big part of our lives, so I guess maybe Jeff did inherit it.  Jeff got his first guitar when he was 8. He took piano lessons with his big sister about that time also.  He picked up his little brother’s fiddle and begged his daddy to buy him an alto sax so he could play in the band in Jr High.  This kid lived to make music.

Jeff loved animals, especially horses.  He and his daddy used to compete in rodeos.  They loved competing in team roping and pinning events.  When Jeff was not working or going to school he would sometimes get up real early and saddle up his horse and take off down our country road and watch the sun come up.   Sometimes in the evenings, he put his girlfriend on the back and they would ride off and watch the sun set.  Simple things made Jeff happy.

Jeff also loved working with his hands.  His daddy started to teach him how to work on cars when he was about 12.  I think that was the last time I ever saw him with clean fingernails.  When he got older, sometimes I’d be looking out the front door and see him driving up our driveway, dragging some piece of junk car behind him.   It was usually one of the cars that a normal person would PAY you to haul off.  For the next few weeks, whenever I wanted to see Jeff, all I had to do was open the blind in my kitchen.  I’d usually see his backside as he was working under the hood or I’d see his long skinny legs sticking out from underneath the car.  He’d get the engine running then he’d get the body in decent shape then he’d sell it and bring home another pile of junk.

Jeff graduated from high school in 1992, just one week after he turned 18.  Like a lot of young men that age, he didn’t know what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. Well, he did what lot of guys did back then, he joined the Army… he wanted to see the world then figure out this thing we call life.

When Jeff got out of the Army he came home, still undecided about his future.  He and his little brother started taking and since they both loved working with their hands, they decided to go to school to lean how to install and repair heating and air conditioning systems.

They had a plan.  For the first time in their lives they knew what they wanted to do for the rest of their lives.  They had goals and were reaching toward them. They would sometimes monopolize our dinner table conversations talking about how they were going to study hard at school and when they got out, they would go to work for someone and learn everything they could about the business then they would start their own.  They were going to make it and it was going to be big.  As parents, we were thrilled that our boys were so enthused about their futures; life just doesn’t get much better than that.

But because of Jeff’s decision to drive after he had been drinking, all of their dreams were shattered, along with so many of ours.

Jeff left home on Sunday, August 23, 1998 and never returned.  We talked with his friends and have pieced together most of his last day.  It went something like this.

Jeff left home around noon.  I was upstairs and all I heard was “Bye Mom, I love you.”  I saw his tail lights as he pulled out of our driveway a few minutes later.   His first stop was the lake.  He met up with a bunch of his buddies.  They went swimming, hung out for a while and had a few beers.  He was 24 years old and there was nothing wrong or illegal about this, if he had just sobered up before he left.  But, that wasn’t Jeff.  

He left the lake and went to a friend’s house.  This friend played guitar.  They did some picking and singing and some more drinking.  This was not enough for Jeff.  He got in his truck and rolled his party on down the road over two counties that day. 

About 10:00 that night he decided it was time to go home.  He had to go to work in the morning and had to go register for school, so it was going to be long day.  He had a friend with him who needed a ride so they both hopped in his truck and headed home.  THEY ALMOST MADE IT.  They made it to a small town about 8 miles from our home when Jeff’s truck started over heating.  He pulled in a gas station to let the engine cool off enough to add water to the radiator.  Then he tried to start it, but it would not start.  Jeff had to call home. 

We were getting ready for bed when he called.  I answered the phone and he asked for his brother Dave.  He came into our room a few minutes later and he said he needed to take the jumper cables to Jeff and that they would be back shortly.  We were not worried.  With two boys we had been thru this before.  When Dave left my husband and I went on to bed.

About an hour later the phone rang again.  This time it woke me up.  I answered it and it was Dave.  He asked to talk with his dad.  I handed the phone to my husband and I remember his holding it up and listening.  I don’t think he said anything.  He just listened.

When he hung the phone up he laid there real still for a minute.  Then he said to me “We have to get up and go.  Jeff’s been in a wreck and they are CareFlighting him to Ft Worth.”  (CareFlight is the name of the emergency helicopter service in the Dallas/Fort Worth area that is often called when accident victims need to be flown to the hospital instead of being transported by an ambulance.)

We were up and out of the house within minutes.  We were scared, really scared.  None of our kids had ever been hurt badly before, much less CareFlighted.  All the way in to Ft Worth I tried to tell myself not to panic.  I mean, we live in a small town and we have a small town hospital.  Maybe they send everything that is worse than a broken arm or leg to Ft Worth.  I was almost convinced of this by the time we reach the hospital.

We found the emergency room and told them who we were.  They said “Follow me.”  I thought “THANK GOD, I can finally see my son and this nightmare will be over.”  That didn’t happen.  Instead of taking us to see Jeff, they took us to a small, private sitting room.  I had been in one of those rooms before with my dad, when he was sick.  I KNEW they did not put the family there for a broken bone.  Those people sat out in the regular waiting room.  I KNEW they put the family in these rooms when it was BAD and the family was going to need some privacy.  That is when I started to panic. 

Then our son Dave showed up and told us what he knew.  He said that when he got to the gas station with the jumper cables, Jeff was not there.  Now Grandview, where Jeff called from, is a very small town.  It only has one convenience store, so Dave knew he was in the right place, but he had no idea where his brother could be.  He sat there a minute, trying to decide his next move when he heard a noise.  He looked up and saw a highway patrol car come flying down off the interstate highway with his lights and siren on.  Dave said something in his gut told him to follow that car and I will find my brother, so he took out right behind him.  He followed him down Hwy 4 for a bout a mile or so until he came upon the Grandview Cemetery.  There is a curve in the road at that cemetery.  

Dave saw more flashing lights, more police cars, a fire truck and an ambulance.  Then he saw his brother’s Bronco upside down in the ditch.  He got out of his car and was approaching the scene when one of the officers stopped him.  Dave said “You gotta let me in!  That’s my brother’s truck!”   The officer let him in and Dave got close enough so he could see his big brother.  What he saw was Jeff laid out on the ground amongst the tombstones of this little cemetery.  The paramedics had cut off most of his clothing.  All he had left on was his underwear and he was surrounded by these guys trying to save his life.

A local policeman went up to Dave and said, “I was across the road when this happened, I saw it.  Your brother took that curve too fast.  His truck went off the road and while he was trying to get it back on the road his truck started to roll.”

Neither one of the boys was wearing a seat belt.  Both young men were thrown out the passenger window as it rolled.  Jeff’s friend was treated and released from our little hospital the next morning.  Jeff was not so lucky.

It was about this time that the doctor came in.  He wanted to prepare us to see our son and to describe his injuries.  “Major trauma to the head and to the chest.  Your son cannot breathe on his own.  We have him on a ventilator.  He has a fractured skull, multiple internal injuries and multiple broken bones.”  He then told us that they had run a test on Jeff called a blood flow test.  They didn’t think there was enough blood flowing to our son’s brain to keep him alive.  He said the test results came back but it was  inconclusive, they just really couldn’t tell.  He told us they would have to wait 6 hours to run another test.  He finally took us to see our son.

When I walked in to that trauma room I saw my son, laying on that gurney, surrounded by machines.  He was all bloody and bruised and swollen and so horribly still.  The only movement in my full throttle little boy’s body was made by that machine pumping air into his lungs.  All I could do as him mother was to sit and hold his hand and stroke his hair and pray.

We could only see Jeff for a few minutes each hour. Between visits we sat with family and friends who started coming up, or we sat in the chapel praying for miracles.  Around  dawn they relaxed the rules and let us see Jeff almost as much as we wanted.  Each time I saw him he was worse that time before.

Finally our time was up.  The doctor came in.  He brought the chaplain with him.  I remember them sitting down across the table from me.  I remember him taking my hand and looking me in the eyes as he said, ”I am sorry to have to tell you this, but your son is brain dead.  There is just too much damage.  There is no hope for a recovery.  He is gone.”

I got to see my son one last time.  I got to hold him and kiss him and tell him again how much I loved him.  I tried to tell him how much I would miss him. The hardest thing I have ever done in my life was to walk out of that hospital room without my son.

I am here today to tell you that what happened to my son did not have to happen.

I do not blame anyone for my son’s death except my son.  It was his decision to drive after he had been drinking.  So many things could have happened differently that day, and my son would still be alive and I wouldn’t not be in this room tonight.

If just ONE PERSON, from the lake on, when they saw my son going towards his truck would have said, “WHOA kid, let me have those keys.  I’ll drive you or I will call someone for you, or I will sit with you or do anything for you EXCEPT let you drive off”  If anyone who was with Jeff that day would have done that my son would still be here.  Not one person did that the entire evening.

The last person Jeff was with that night wasn’t another kid.  He was a very dear family friend who is my age.  My family was with this man almost daily.  They all played music together.  Jeff played the guitar for the last two hours of his life; something he loved as much as he loved life.

We saw this man at Jeff’s funeral.  He came to us with tears flowing down his cheeks.  He said he knew Jeff had had too much to drink and that he should have stopped him from driving.  He said he didn’t stop him because he was afraid he would make Jeff mad. He loved our son and he valued his friendship.  I wish he would have thought more of losing his friend instead of his friendship.  We have not seen this man but maybe 3 or 4 times since Jeff died.  The last time was over 4 years ago.  He cannot look us in the eyes without seeing our pain.  He feels responsible for it.

The policeman who said he saw the crash told Dave that he feels partly responsible.  He told him that he saw the boys when they drove in to the convenience store.  He said he drove in behind them and watched them from his patrol car.  He said that when Jeff went back to his truck after using the pay phone he thought everything was OK, so he took off about his duties.  Apparently that was when Jeff got his truck started.  He took out right behind the officer, headed home.

This officer said that if he had just taken the time to go over to the truck and talk to the boys he would have known right off that Jeff was drunk.  He said he probably would have just yanked his keys and made him call for a ride.  He said he did this sometimes, to give a kid a break.   This officer has changed his way of thinking since this happened.  Now, when he finds someone on the road that has been drinking, they are going to jail.  No exceptions.

Jeff always thought he was lucky.  This was not his first time to drive drunk.  He and his buddies never thought twice about piling into some ones car and heading to Ft Worth.  They’d close down the bars and meet back at the car to see who was the least drunk. That’s the way they decided who would be the designated driver.  Sometimes they’d have to pull over and let someone else drive.  Sometimes they’d have to change drivers more than once.  Sometimes they’d have to find a place to park and sleep it off for awhile because no one was capable of driving.  But SOMEHOW, by the Grace of God, they always made it home…until that night.

Jeff’s decision to drive after he had been drinking cost him his life, but it didn’t stop there.  It affected everyone who knew him and loved him.  I have a Jeff shaped hole in my heart and it will be there until it takes its final beat and I see my son again.  It has been almost eight years since we said goodbye to our son, but I still see the pain in his daddy’s eyes.  I see it when he comes back from a hunting trip, or when he comes in after a ride on his horse.  I see it when he is just sitting and playing his guitar, or just listening to music and hears one of their favorite songs, or a great guitar run.  His eyes are saying, “Damn, I miss my son!”

Jeff’s death has affected so many people, but I think it hurts his little brother the most.  Our boys were three years apart and very close.  Dave tried going to school after Jeff died but he couldn’t.  This was their dream, not just his.  He went one semester and dropped out.   Dave stumbled around in life for awhile, trying to figure it all out.  He finally decided that he might make a good electrician.  He checked into it and found out he would have to go to school for five years to get his journeyman’s license.  He did it.  He took his final exam last May.  When he got the news that he had passed, he was so proud of himself.  It had been a long five years.  Dave was not just a student. He was a husband and father and homeowner who worked full time, who had to find the time to fix the dishwasher or mow the lawn between work and school. He had every reason to be proud.

When Dave received the news he had passed his electrician’s test he had to share it, but he didn’t call his wife and tell her.  He didn’t call his dad either. He got in his truck and drove to the cemetery.  He had to tell his big brother first.  

I don’t know what put you in the chair you are sitting in tonight, but was what you did so different than what Jeff did?  Jeff didn’t wake up that morning and say I think I’m going to get drunk today and kill myself.  No… he just wanted to have a little fun.  Once he started school, he knew it would be hard to find the time for fun.

Jeff thought he was lucky because he had never gotten a DWI.  His luck ran out that night, because a DWI at that convenience store would have saved his life.  Maybe your ticket saved your life and you just don’t know it.  What’s important is that you ARE alive.  You may not enjoy being here tonight, but when we’re done you can go home.  Jeff can’t come home.

Once you get past probation, if you choose to go out and have a few drinks, and are of the legal drinking age, go for it.  BUT,  remember to take someone with you that will NOT be drinking, and give THEM your keys.  Buy them a few iced teas or Dr Peppers and let THEM drive you home.

If you find yourself without a designated driver, call someone. If you can’t find anyone to be your designated driver, stay where you are.  Don’t take that chance again.  If you can’t call a cab or catch a bus, think about calling a tow truck.  That may sound crazy, but what is your DWI costing you now?  How much were your attorney fees?  How much has your auto insurance increased?  How much are your probation fees?  How much time did you have to miss from work when you had to be in court?  The cost of a tow truck is nothing compared to the THOUSANDS of dollars you are (or will be) spending on this DWI.

Let the past be a GUIDEPOST, and not a HITCHING POST.  You will not be tied to this situation forever.  If you follow the rules, this will eventually be over. Learn from your mistakes and the mistakes of others, like Jeff.  Your DWI might have been a big speed bump in your life, but at least you are lucky enough to be going through it.  

I know you don’t like sitting here tonight having to listen to a story about a guy you never knew.  And truthfully, I don’t like speaking at these Victim Impact Panels.  I’d rather be home with BOTH of my boys, sitting at my dining room table watching them scarf down a plate of fried chicken and mashed potatoes while hearing Jeff say, “Hey Mom, Dave and I got that big contract for the heating and air conditioning system at the new high school they’re building.  We’ll be able to buy that new service truck we need.  Our business is doing great.  Life is great!”

But life isn’t great at our house, and it never will be.  An integral part of our family is missing.  His name is Jeffrey Thomas Abel.

Please learn from my son’s fatal decision, and don’t place yourself in a position where one of your loved ones is telling YOUR story at a Victim Impact Panel.  Thank you for your attention, and please buckle up on your way home tonight.

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