Today, on Father’s Day, my children and I are taking a bucket of chicken to the cemetery. For those of you who are new around here, my husband was killed in a car accident last year on May 31st. He was 25 years old. We have two children and at the time of his death, they were ages 4 and 2. Before you think I’m some morbid mother, the graveside picnic was my children’s idea. They’ve been talking about it for close to a month and I’ve put it off until Father’s Day, which seem as appropriate as it can be.
I thought about writing this blog on the anniversary of his death, but writing about the accident would’ve defeated my purpose of ignoring the anniversary. So, I decided to save it for today. I have no idea why this had to happen to us, but I believe my words will reach out to someone who needs to read them.
May 31st, 2008, I was forced to do what no mother should ever have to do. I had to meet my children at their bedside and tell them that they wouldn’t see Daddy again. That entire day is a blur now, but I’m sure my explanation to them was something like, “Daddy was driving home this morning and he ran the van into some trees. He was hurt really bad and he died. Do you know what it means when someone dies? It means that Daddy isn’t going to be able to come home again. He went to heaven to live with Jesus and we won’t see him anymore.”
While I don’t remember exactly what I said to my children, I will never forget the look on their tiny faces. Mortality was realized and their delicate innocence was shattered. Their father, teacher, coach, biggest fan and superman was gone forever.
I love my cell phone and I’m guilty of it too from time to time, but I can no longer check my phone or return a text behind the wheel of a car with a clear conscience. In Tennessee texting and driving is now illegal and more states seem to be heading in the same direction.
Don’t text and drive.
Don’t drink and drive.
And ALWAYS buckle up.
Don’t be the reason that anyone else has a KFC picnic at the cemetery on Father’s Day. Please remember these faces the next time your cell phone goes off in transit.
Robert William Huttinger III
July 10th, 1982 – May 31st 2008
If some lessons in life are learned the hard way, then this particular lesson is painfully too important to miss.
