Speaking Engagement..Feedback Please. in Muddling Through As Best I Can

July 28th and 29th, I have been invited to speak to a Drug Awareness Conference in Houston. I will be speaking to the mayor, city council, as well as the District Attorney and about 300 guests. I have never engaged in public speaking, so this is a first for me. I am now a MADD (Mother’s Against Drunk Drivers} advocate, and they felt our story would make an impact. The information about Austin is something I have never shared, so it was touchy for me to write, but I wanted to show that this has affected us from both ends of the spectrum. Please give me your feedback.
*”Thank you for inviting me here today. I appreciate the opportunity to speak with you and share my story
Unfortunately, it isn’t just my story, but the story of my entire family, our friends and loved ones, as well as countless others across our state.
Although my impetus to become involved with MADD began last year , our story stretches back much further than that.
My eldest son was born on August 31, 1981 in Houston, where he lived his entire life on the Northeast side of town. He was an extremely bright child, of my four sons, probably the easiest infant of them all.
Austin was a very happy and boisterous young child. He made friends easily and was always popular. He was big for his age, eventually growing to be 6’ 9”.
He loved sports, and excelled in football. For nearly 13 years he was an only child, and we lavished all our time and attention on him, yet he never acted spoiled. He was our gentle giant.
He protected his smaller friends from school bullies. Once, he came upon three students accosting his cousin Alicia in the hallway, attempting to sexually assault her. He quickly put paid to all three boys to protect his cousin.
Upon his graduation from high school, he had numerous colleges courting him to play for them, but he chose to stay close to home, and was planning to enroll in the University of Houston. Although his mother and I divorced when he was 12, we stayed close as a family and still spent time both together and separately with him.
On February 5,2000 at around 10:00AM,I received a call from Austin’s mother, telling me that Austin had been in a single car accident and was being life-flighted to Hermann Hospital downtown.
While he had suffered no broken bones, his car had flipped and he had been thrown out with the car coming to rest on top of him. He had suffered severe bruising to his lungs and multiple contusions and lacerations.
For the next 19 days, we sat beside our son, holding his hand and praying for a miracle, while a respirator breathed for him and an uncontrollable staph infection ravaged his body. I can’t describe to you what it felt like to sit beside his bed each day, praying for a miracle that never came, or the sound of the heart monitor as it slowed with each beat of his heart, until it stopped altogether. It was the worst nightmare of our lives come to life.
Austin died on February 24,and we buried him on the 29th, a leap year.
I have never talked about this outside of my wife and children. My parents and siblings were never told, nor were the circle of friends who supported us through our losses; but Austin was under the influence of drugs when he wrecked his car. I have no real idea if it was a cause of the accident, I will never know for sure, but they were in his system and and for 16 years I’ve lived with the guilt of not knowing and being able to do something to help him, both before and after the wreck. This has haunted me every day for 16 years.
Life has been a series of what-ifs and might-have beens since that day. Who would he be now? What would his children look like? We will never know now. I miss him today, as much as if it had happened yesterday.
Then there was Bradley. Brad was born in Montgomery County and raised there for nearly his entire life. He had been a volunteer firefighter during high school and after, and had begun the registration process to get his degree in fire science and work to become a full time firefighter with the goal of obtaining his paramedic as well. He was dedicated to his community and wanted to make it a better, safer place.
Bradley was bright, handsome and personable. He was the type of young man that people were drawn to, with a quick wit and a smile that made you love him.
In 2013, Brad met his future wife, Shea. She had a daughter from a previous relationship who we all quickly fell in love with. Brad and Shea came to live with me In February of 2014, along with Sienna her daughter.
Brad and Shea had just decided to marry when they found out they were expecting a baby. They married in December of 2014 and their second daughter Raina was born the following April. Life seemed to be on track with them. Brad was working hard to build a life for them as well as go to school, Shea had started working at a local Movie Tavern, and was also starting her classes to become a police officer. It seemed like a lot to take on, but they were flourishing, and Shea was an exceptional mother, never lacking time or energy to care for the girls.
On May 17, 2015, Bradley and I had spent the day together with the babies while Shea worked. We took the babies out, and he sat in the wading pool with Sienna and played with her while I tended Raina. We went out to eat lunch together before going back home. I didn’t know it was the last time I would share a meal with him.
He left to go pick Shea up from work, her second week at her new job. On the way home, I got a phone call from him, asking me, “How much do you love me?” My typical response was to ask what he wanted, but this time he was calling to tell me what he wanted to do for me.
He then told me that he had spoken to a photographer and arranged for a family portrait to include all my children and grandchildren, along with me, for Father’s Day. It was something I had been asking my kids to arrange for years, but had never happened. We chatted for a moment, and I asked him to stop at the store for me on the way home. We ended that conversation, as we did every other. We told each other “I love you”. Again, the last time I would hear those words from him.
After a little while, I decided that they had stopped off somewhere and that I would go to the store myself. As I entered the freeway, my oldest son, a police officer, texted to tell me Brad and Shea, along with the babies, had been in an accident, but the personnel on scene wouldn’t give him any details. As I read the text, I topped an overpass and saw the emergency lights.
The scene was horrible; their SUV smashed almost beyond recognition. Despite local law enforcement trying to stop me, I walked onto the scene and caught the local fire captain, someone I had known for years. I looked closer at the vehicle and saw Shea in the passenger side. Broken and bloody, they had not yet been able to extricate her from the wreck. They hurried to cover her at that point.
When I asked about Bradley and the girls, I was told to hurry, it wasn’t good. Bradley had been somewhat coherent at first, insisting that they paramedics take care of his girls, but was seriously injured. “Take care of my babies” were the last words he spoke.
I stopped only long enough to pick up his youngest brother and head for Hermann hospital, where we were told Bradley had not survived. I can’t tell you what it was like to look at his broken and bloody body lying on that table. Thankfully, the girls were both unhurt, but that meant I had to hold myself together so that Sienna wouldn’t be more upset.
The following months were a nightmare of grief, ongoing legal battles, and waiting for the criminal trial of the man who caused their deaths.
Alejandro-Guzman Lopez was 23 at the time of the wreck. It was later revealed that he was
traveling at around 100 mph when he struck my kids, causing their vehicle to lose control and roll several times. They never saw him coming.
This young man was nearly three times the legal limit for alcohol, and was under the influence of cocaine and marijuana at the time of the accident. He received the maximum sentence of 40 years for his crime, but it doesn’t change anything.
My granddaughters have still lost their parents. My remaining children have still lost their brother, and I have lost my son.
Guzman-Lopez will spend at least twenty years behind bars for his part. His life is essentially done. His most productive years will be behind him when he gets out. He will never have a wife and children, and his family is separated from him for at least twenty years. And as an undocumented alien, he will be deported upon release.
I recently read an article that detailed how Austin lawmakers are hesitant to enact some of the stricter DUI laws, one stating that they don’t want to crowd the jails and prison system with DUI offenders when there are “violent” criminals to be dealt with.
When a person puts illegal drugs and/or alcohol into their system, they are making a conscious decision to do so. When they get behind the wheel they are compounding the crime. When this results in the injury or deaths of others, it is compounded yet again.
When I was a police officer many years ago, I saw a lot of violence. I have seen few things more violent that what was done to my sons and daughter in law. If these lawmakers had to stand over the horribly broken bodies of their children, covered in cuts, bruises and broken bones, with blood everywhere; if they ever found themselves calling out to God for a miracle that never comes, they wouldn’t feel this way.
Drugs and alcohol have robbed my family of too much, and I am not alone. In the last year I have connected with hundreds of people, with more every day, who have suffered like losses.
It is time that we, as a society, step forward and enact legislation that will hold our courts to a higher standard. Our sentencing was not the rule, it was an exception. Laws for impaired driving need to be reviewed and toughened so that there will be more of a deterrent. Educating people through media and programs for rehabilitation BEFORE these acts occur must also be a priority.
It is my goal to work towards these ends in any way I can. I came to this decision after drugs and alcohol robbed me of half my family. I would hope that others would join in this fight willingly and not in the way I was brought to it.
Please, if you have not suffered such a loss, if your life is still whole and untouched by such as this, I implore you to take part. Help to prevent it in the future by making your voice heard. I would wish to hear your voices raised in support rather than a cry of grief.
Again, thank you for having me here today and allowing me to tell my sons’ stories.”

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