LIVING PROOF

E-mail    By Gwendolyn D. Seale    Bio/Address

Introduction

My name is Gwen Seale. I don't know that my experience will be heeded by any of you. I do know that I heard the jingles, read the signs, and mourned the television commercials that presented the faces of those that have been lost. I even went so far as to plan my holiday travels around the times that were most dangerous. Dangerous for what? For the possibility of being met head-on by someone like myself.

 This is my story.

 It was a hot evening in June 1996. I was outside playing with my five-year-old daughter, Tori, when the phone rang. It was Iris.

"Hi Gwen," she greeted me. "Are we still on for tonight?"

Iris and I worked together. Upon being hired six months earlier, Iris was assigned to me for training. As co-workers, we had grown to enjoy one another's company.

We were both single parents and occasionally did things together with our children. Iris had a four-year-old son. Just the weekend before we had taken our children camping at a nearby lake. On that trip Iris had asked me to accompany her to a local nightclub the following weekend and I had accepted. She was calling now to confirm our plans. I, however, had spent the day helping my mother with yard work and had decided earlier in the day to decline.

"Iris, I tried to call you earlier," I said. "I've spent the day helping Mom in the yard. I really don't feel like it tonight. Maybe next week?"

Iris responded in disappointment. "We've had this planned for a week! Union, we'll have a good time." Since we'd made plans in advance, and feeling committed, I reluctantly agreed. "Okay," I said, "but I'll be later than we planned."

"Sure, how much later?"

"Iris, I'm nowhere near ready," I replied. "I will have to take Tori to Mom's house, feed her, bathe her, and put her to bed. Then, I'll have to eat something and get dressed. It will be at least ten o'clock."

"Fine," she said, relieved I was going. "I'll see you about ten o'clock."

I telephoned my mother to inform her I was going with Iris and would need her to keep Tori after all.

Tori and I packed her miniature pink overnight case. Because of my parental anxieties, Tori had never stayed with anyone other than my parents. Until she began Pre-K, she stayed with my mother while I worked. Tori loved her Mimi and Paw-paw and was excited at the prospect of spending the night.

"C'mon Mama," Tori squealed as she trotted to the car with her baby doll in one hand, her suitcase in the other. "Bye-bye Bruiser," she yelled to our boxer, "I'm going to Mimi and Paw-paw's house to spend the night. I'll see you tomorrow big ole boy."

We loaded into the car, put on our seatbelts, backed out the driveway and headed to Mimi and Paw-paw's. When we arrived, Mom had a country supper prepared and insisted I eat with them before I left. We sat to homemade macaroni and cheese, cube steak and mashed potatoes covered in mushroom gravy, corn soufflé, fresh butter beans, bread, and sweet tea. Tori said grace and we indulged in our feast.

After supper, I ran a bath for Tori. I bathed her then dressed her for bed. I helped my mother finish the dishes while Tori spent time with her Paw-paw. At eight P.M. sharp, I put Tori to bed. I read her a story as I did every night. She drifted into sleep and I returned home to ready myself for the evening ahead of me.

By the time I met with Iris, it was close to ten-thirty P.M. We took my car and began what I thought would be a night of fun. I had no idea of what lay very near in my future.

The next memory I have is of waking with a strange feeling of bondage. I was lying on my back and could hear a rhythmic tone, dull, yet consistent, interrupting the silence.  I detected the stench of rubbing alcohol and the metallic odor of blood. I struggled to open my eyes, dry and heavy, in an attempt to focus on my whereabouts. Above me was a corrugated ceiling that held, with symmetrical perfection, four fluorescent lights. I lowered my eyes to find the bondage I felt was my attachment to wires and tubes that held me hostage in a bed that was not my own. The combination of these oddities quickly registered for me that I was a patient in a hospital. The aura surrounding me was one of grief; it permeated the room.

Several moments into consciousness I realized my family stood witness to my rebirth into awareness. Their faces held expressions of horror, fear, sadness, and relief. I quickly tried to surmise what events led to my present situation. Confused and suddenly frightened, I spoke not a word. I was, at that moment, so foreign to myself I wasn't certain I could speak. I lay caught in a wondering gaze with my mother and father; their eyes were swollen and rimmed with exhaustion. I didn't know what had taken place, but I knew it was serious.

My father approached me and attempted a smile - I suppose to comfort me. He could see in my eyes the fear and the many questions I had. Nearing my bed he touched my shoulder and asked how I was feeling.

"Do you know where you are, sweetheart," he asked me.

"A hospital," I questioned in a hoarse reply.

"Yes," he said. "You were involved in a terrible car wreck a week ago, baby girl."

My mind raced to confirm what he was saying, but came up empty. I had no evidence to support his claim except my surroundings and physical condition. My mind could provide no supportive recollection of such an event.

"Did anyone get hurt," I asked, dreading my father's response.

He hesitated and exhaled slowly, as if he could not find words to tell me what had to be said. "Baby, three people were killed," he whispered.

I began to tremble uncontrollably. My ears deafened as my throat constricted, rendering me mute. My heart beat furiously, threatening to burst from my chest. My stomach knotted, clenching my ribs. Breathing became difficult and thought became impossible. Although I was awake, my reality became surrealistic.

"Wake up. This is not real. This is not happening, Gwen. Wake up," a voice in my head demanded.

My father, strong and protective, stood over me helpless to make any easier for me what would be the most painful experience of my life. It hurt him as deeply, to have to tell me, as it was for me to hear. I thought of Iris, she was the last person I could recall being with. Meeting with her was the last memory I possessed. I did not know for certain where we went, or if we even arrived at our destination.

"Iris," I asked, now crying.

"Iris is okay," my father said. "She wasn't with you. You were alone. You had a head-on collision with a van carrying three people from Virginia, a family; they were killed instantly."

The tears, hot on my face, were wiped for me by my mother who cried silently, hovering over me like an angel. I wanted to die, just close my eyes and return to the nothingness from which I had emerged.

I fell in and out of sleep the remainder of that day. Each time I woke, it was with the hope that I was waking from the nightmare that had claimed my life. Instead, each time I woke, I was forced to accept my nightmare as reality.

I was discharged from the hospital. I had spent four days in the Intensive Care Unit and an additional two on the main floor. My doctor said that the lap strap from my seatbelt, due to impact, forced my abdominal organs into my chest cavity, rupturing my diaphragm. That explained the staples from my breastplate to my pelvis. My left lung was collapsed and I had broken my right wrist. I had numerous lacerations and my entire body was bruised. My most serious injury, however, was emotional, and no surgery could repair that. I had my life though, which was more than I had left my victims.

Guilt, sorrow, and remorse consumed my every moment. I wanted to apologize for what I had done but a mere apology seemed so hollow. Words would never be able to express how sorry I was. Words could not convey the guilt connected with my personal survival when innocent people had died at my hands.

I later learned that Iris and I had indeed arrived at our destination, a local nightclub. I was told I consumed four mixed drinks in the course of the evening, later excused myself to the restroom and was not seen again. I abandoned Iris that night for reasons unknown to both of us. I have no recollection beyond meeting with Iris that evening. Through the testimony of Iris and other witnesses, I gained more acceptance of my reality... and dread of my future.

Years before, I drank often in the nightclub scene. Upon discovering that I was pregnant with Tori, I stopped for the health of my unborn child. It was only much later that I began to drink socially on the few occasion that I went out.  This night was one of those occasions.

My family retained the services of an attorney. Charges against me were awaiting the release of my toxicology report from the Georgia State Crime Lab. I was facing three counts of vehicular homicide in the first degree. Each count carried a maximum sentence of fifteen years. At twenty-six, I was facing forty-five years in the Georgia State Penitentiary. All the result of one irresponsible choice I made; to drink, then drive.

During the eighteen months leading to my court date I collaborated with my attorney, readying myself for what was to come. I also used this time deciding how I would begin explaining to my daughter what I had done and how I would prepare her for my punishment.

"Tori is too young for you to tell her about prison," I heard from some friends and family members as we discussed options on informing Tori that I would be leaving her. "Tell her you're going away to school or work until she's older," some suggested.

I didn't ever want her to think she was abandoned by me, for something I loved more than her, by my choice. I wanted her to know that. I wanted to be honest with her, delicate but honest. I had made a mistake. I was going to have to work with her to help her understand and prepare for our separation. Tori had only been told that I was involved in an automobile accident and had been hurt. She had not been told that anyone had been killed, much less, that it was my fault. I sat her down and began what I have never regretted telling her - the truth.

She was so young that it was hard for Tori to understand the complexities of the legal system, that "I'm sorry" didn't make it better.

"Mama, just tell them it was an accident, that you didn't mean to kill anyone," Tori cried.

"Tori," I responded, "Pretend that you were running inside Mimi's house. You know you're not allowed to run inside - that is one of Mimi's rules. Well, let's pretend while you were running inside you fell on Mimi's hall table and knocked off her pretty blue vase, it was an accident, but it happened because you broke the rule of no running in the house. If you had not been running in the house, the vase would not have been broken. So, although you didn't mean to, you have to be punished for running in the house and breaking the vase. Do you understand, sweetheart?"

"Yes ma'am," she said.

"Well," I went on, "Rules for grown-ups are called laws. One of the laws says you are not allowed to drive your car after you drink alcoholic beverages. I did not mean to kill that family, just like in the pretend game you didn't mean to break the vase. But, I broke the law by driving my car after I drank alcoholic beverages. If I hadn't broken the law, that family would not have been killed. So, I have to be punished for killing that family, although I didn't mean to do it. I will have to go to prison. Prison is "time-out" for grown-ups.

Tori was full of questions and I answered each one honestly. I drove her to a local women's prison, about two hours away from our home, so she could see the fence and wires for the first time with me, allowing me to answer her questions and ease her fears.

As we discussed our inevitable separation, we spent hours that totaled months in tears. I was honest with her. I assured her of my love for her, of my having no choice in leaving and of her safety and stability with my parents who were to be given temporary guardianship over her in my absence.

Tori and I moved in with my parents to ease the transition to her future residence. I did not return to work after my release from the hospital. I chose, instead, to spend every moment greedily absorbing the beauty of my relationship with my daughter, cherishing the things in life I had taken for granted, and dreading the day I would lose it all. I was soon to become part of a frightening society of which I knew nothing. I was going to be a convicted felon, fingerprinted and nationally registered like an animal verging on extinction. I was to become an inmate in a Georgia penitentiary. Meanwhile, my daughter would become motherless.

The months prior to my court date turned into weeks and the weeks eventually slipped into mere days. My final day of freedom was upon me. It was the day before my final court appearance. A day of silent farewells to my mother, father, brother, daughter, and friends. The next day I would be forced to face the victim's family. I would have to face their unknown reactions. My fear and tension mounted beyond description. I was within hours of losing life, as I knew it and painfully changing life for all my loved ones - just as I had painfully changed life for the family of my victims eighteen months earlier. Sleep was far beyond my reach that night; morning was upon me as soon as I closed my eyes.

That morning Tori woke crying, afraid that I would be gone when she returned from school that day. I tenderly consoled her as I dressed her for school, knowing I might never have the opportunity to do so again. Her school bus pulled up outside the house. I tried to walk Tori out. I tried, but could not find the strength to do so. My father took her little hand from me and led her out in my place. I kissed my six-year-old baby goodbye ...not knowing how old she would be when I returned to fill my role as mother.

The judge eyed me sternly as he dolefully decided and relayed my sentencing:

 

"Ms Seale, you have been found guilty of three counts of vehicular homicide in the first degree. On the first count of vehicular homicide, you are hereby sentenced to fifteen years confinement. On the second count of vehicular homicide, Ms. Seale, you are sentenced to fifteen years confinement. On the third count of vehicular homicide, you are sentenced to fifteen years confinement. These sentences are to run concurrent. You will spend your confinement in a Georgia State Penitentiary. Do you understand the sentence I have just imposed, Ms. Seale?"

 

All I could think was that Tori, my only child, my baby, would be twenty-one years old when emerged from prison. Ironically, at the end of my sentence, she would be just old enough to drink.

When my daughter came home from school that day, I was gone. I've been gone ever since. My grandmother has passed away in my absence. My parents have aged and my little girl is now a young lady.

Even though I never expected it, I sought forgiveness from the victims of my crime, . They, however, exhibited an inner strength and beauty that contradicted my expectations and exceeded my hopes. The victim's family displayed no anger. Hurt and forgiveness were all that was expressed by them, which compounded my personal guilt and remorse. Why weren't they hateful to me, I wondered? Somewhere deep inside I wanted them to be angry with me, to hate me because I hated myself. I knew I could not have forgiven them had they done this to my family. I simply could not comprehend their forgiveness. I had feared their wrath for eighteen months, more than I feared imprisonment. Their forgiveness was the greatest gift I've ever received and the first step to healing for me. It was a long time, however, before I would forgive myself.

I can never rectify what I have caused. I can never rid myself of the remorse that engulfed my life the moment I learned I had killed three people. Fear, regret, and sadness have become constant companions of mine. It is one thing to lose someone to a natural death, it is quite another to awaken and be informed that you have taken someone's life. In essence, you have become a murderer. The words "I'm sorry" bring back nothing. There are no words of comfort, only hollow attempts to...

I never dreamed this could happen to me. I was not a "drunk". I was "aware" of the danger of drinking and driving; the red bow on my car's antenna portrayed my awareness. I had never had a DUI. That little red bow put me on the other side of the drunk driving battle, or so I thought. The truth is that I was the battle. Any of you recognizing the statement, "I've only had a couple, I'm okay to drive," are also the battle.

On June 20, 1996, I killed three innocent, unsuspecting people when I crossed the median of I75, careening head-on, at eighty miles per hour, into oncoming traffic. I devastated more lives in that night than I can ever begin to count. I woke one day to find my life and identity altered forever. I suppose that I thought I was okay to drive that night. It turned out to be murder - I am living proof.

 Post Script

 Gwen Seale has served five years of a fifteen-year sentence for three counts of vehicular homicide. She attends college by correspondence and writes both for herself and those who can benefit from her experience.  

Reader Comments

Dear Ms. Seale,

I just want to express my appreciation for "Living Proof". Your story is a stark reminder that each of us is capable of "making mistakes" that can not only forever change our lives and the lives of those we love, but also the lives of strangers.

I am sure that most of us can claim to have done something stupid at some point and got away with it. "Living Proof" is a reminder that getting away with it is not a valid reason for doing it again.

I hope that many who read your story will heed your words, I took the liberty of passing it on to my friends - unfortunately, it is also true, that most of us know people who need a wake up call before they turn themselves or someone else into a statistic.

With the holiday season just around the corner, have you considered trying to have "Living Proof" published elsewhere? Is this even permissible once a story has been published in "Cell Door"? I pray that you and your Tori have the strength to build a special type of mother/daughter relationship over the years. I hope she is able to visit often. I also hope that she grows up knowing that while she may not be proud of where you are, she has every reason to be proud of who you are as a person.

With respect,

Pam Dyer

Ste-Marie-Madeleine

Quebec Canada

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Gwen-

I read your story and I am so sorry to here what happened to you.  I myself have a six year old and it could have easily  been me I know there have been a few times when I myself said " I have only had a couple I am ok to drive. Best of luck to you and your daughter.  After reading your story I will definitely think twice prior to driving even after only "a few". 

Best Wishes-

Shannon

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Hi Gwen,  

I read your story and was really touched.  I could have  been in your situation many times over but was fortunate enough not to have to face that.  I am an ex inmate now working in the prisoner support field in my free time.  I did 27 months in the feds for possession of a deer rifle I shouldn't have had because of a probation stint running back to college & joyriding..   

Never the less, if you have any free time to write, I would like to talk to you.   I know you probably get a million email/letters as it stands so I don't really expect to hear back from you..        If that is the case, I would like to give you a web community URL that your family may be interested in.    Its a support community for prisoners' families and friends called:

PrisonTalk Online   www.prisontalkonline.com      

We'll, hope to hear from you.    

Best wishes,   David Frisk Prisoner Services International

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I read your experiences in "Living Proof".
You have an ability to express yourself with
a simplicity and an honesty that is inspiring.
 
I will remember some of your word when I reach
my next decision in life. We are all faced with
many "head on collisions" on a regular basis.
 
God bless you and your family
 
Chris

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