My Father Was Killed By A Drunk Driver!!

I don't often think about it anymore, it is filed way back in my consciousness somewhere, in the netherworld of my mind. But, as I sit in my cozy little living room, painting a sign for our chicken coop, I listen to Dr. Phil playing in the background. Today, his show is about drunk drivers, the killers behind the wheel!!

First I must tell you about my daddy. He was a kind, gentle soul, a slight man of about 5'7" and 150 lbs at his highest.... which he shot to whenever he stopped smoking. I remember one day when I was about 10, him pulling up his v-necked white t shirt, exposing his belly. "See how fat I'm getting since I stopped smoking, I have a huge belly now!" It was not huge by any means, it just look a little full, as if he had eaten a nice four course dinner. Within a few days he started smoking yet again. This was his cycle again and again, but he still never weighed more than 150!

My father was born in Minnesota, in a small iron ore mining town. His parents were immigrants from Yugoslavia; now to be politically correct I must say, Croatia. He came from a large family, as did most people back in the early 1900's. He was born Matthew Steven Staydohar in 1919 and remained in the United States until he was a few years old. For some reason, I do not know, his parents decided to head back to Croatia. My grandparents died before I was born, so I only know them via photographs and stories from my daddy.

At the age of 14 they returned to the USA and my father was destined to work the mines, just as every other young man did in their town. My father knew better and made other plans for his future. He dropped out of school by the time he was barely 17, still spoke with a choppy Croatian accent and decided he was going to join the Army.

He falsified his birth certificate, which was easy to do back then, and shipped off to boot camp. Happy and fitting in like a glove, he chose to work towards being a chef and trained in the mess hall during and after boot camp. In years to come, he would always fall back on this God given gift.... in his heart he was a 'chef' in no uncertain terms.

A few years passed and somehow the Army found out his secret and kicked his butt to the curb! How dare he falsify his birth certificate in order to serve his country!!! Despite the upset, he still wanted to serve, and returned home to apply for an Air Force gig instead.

They gladly accepted him as a soldier and he proudly served his country, our country for 25 more years!

I asked my father many times to teach me the Croatian language. Every single time, it was the same response, "I am an American, I am proud to live in the USA", and never taught me a single word or phrase. I was disappointed, and at the same time proud he felt that way.

I had five siblings, two of who tragically died, but that's two more hubs. We were the typical family in the 60's, with a father who worked outside the home and a mother who worked inside, until my younger brother and I were teenagers. My dad retired from the Air Force in 1960 at which time we moved from Alaska to California. We piled on to a military ship, the eight of us, and set out for five days at sea. There are two things I remember most about that journey, I was 4 at the time. First, the ocean is oh-so-big, vastness unmatched when you are slowly gliding along on a "giant boat"! Second, I had three older brothers who threatened each day to throw me over the railings and told me sharks below would eat me in a matter of moments!!!! I cried a lot!!!! My brothers were NOT nice!!

We settled in central California, my father worked again for the government but in a civilian capacity this time. Our life in sunny Cali was not perfect, and that is yet another hub waiting to be written! But, one thing was certain, I loved and adored my daddy very, very much!

I was my father's "favorite" and my siblings hated me for that!!! What they didn't think about was that I was always there for my dad. I would ride the bus to his work, just to spend time and ride home with him everyday. I was the one who listened to and encouraged him in all his entrepreneurial escapades. My mother poo-pooed his plans to be creative and self sufficient. I was the one who headed out on the weekends to car dealerships, sit for hours while he negotiated the cost of yet another new car. I was the one who spent the most time with him. I learned so much for him and cherish every moment we shared!!

I was young when he retired from his Air Force gig, so he had more time for my little brother and me. My siblings were jealous and never failed to let me know it. Beatings by my brothers and verbal abuse was a daily occurrence from them, but it made me tough and I rarely let them see me cry.

I so loved my daddy.... he had a voice like Frank Sinatra and would sing to me every day. I would sit and listen, absorbing every word. My sister and brothers ran outside to play or do whatever it was they did away from home, their loss!!!

I adored my father and when I gave birth to my first son, Daniel, he too became the apple of my father's eye. Makes sense, he adored me and he adored my son! He always rocked Daniel in his loving arms, sang to him while nuzzling his neck and tummy til Daniel bubbled over in laughter. When we were away from home, he would call to speak with Daniel on the phone, talking 'baby talk' to him until he beamed with a smile from ear to ear. He loved my son and I loved that he did!!!

My father, Daniel's adoring PePaw was taken away from us, WITHOUT our consent!!!

I was twenty one, working for the government as a civil servant.... following in my dad's footsteps so to speak. I was happy, life was good. I spent so very much time at my parent's home, it was almost like we still lived there. Never a day went by without Daniel spending precious time with my parent's, especially my doting father! I was happy, Daniel was happy, life was good!

Until that fateful night in February 1977. Daniel had just turned three; it was a Friday night, like all other Friday nights. We were home enjoying special one on one time, with a nice weekend of family time ahead of us. We had visited with my father earlier that day. I remember it well, because as we said goodbye, leaving my parent's house, my father would not let me take Daniel from his arms! We kissed and hugged by my father's recliner, but he followed us to the front porch. As the screen door slowly closed, he pushed it open and pulled Daniel again from my arms. He kept kissing his little neck, as Daniel giggled in joy.

Finally, I scooped him slowly from my father's loving arms, explained to him that we had a doctor's appointment we had to get to, kissed him again on the cheek and told him I loved him. He gently released Daniel and I remember looking into his gentle, loving eyes, feeling blessed to have a father such as him!

That was the last time I ever saw my daddy!!!!! At two a.m. that Friday night, I got a phone call. I jumped from bed, heart racing wondering who in the heck would be calling at that time. I bolted for the phone, it rang twice by the time I grabbed the receiver. "Hello, hello" I responded and then 'click' it went dead. I was mad at the jerk who would call and wake us up at that time and headed back to my warm, soft bed.

Ring, ring, ring the phone sounded again! This time I was 'pissed' and swiftly answered the call, hoping Daniel would not be awakened once more by the commotion.

This time it was different, on the other end I could hear breathing as I spoke and realized it was my brother John, five years my elder. It was the worst news I would ever receive and I had no clue at the time, how it would change my life and my entire families life!

Without hesitation, no lead in, nothing... he blurted out, "Karen, dad was hit by a drunk driver and HE'S DEAD!!!!" My entire world came crashing down...NO THIS COULD NOT BE!!!!! He kept talking, but I did not hear words, just mumbling of some sort. My head spun and my heart raced.... how could this be? I just saw my daddy earlier, on the porch, all was well. How could this be? No, he could not be dead! Perhaps my brother was high, which he was most of his life. But he wasn't and it was true!!!

Somehow John ended up at my front door, walked in and said we were going to see and tell mom. My mother worked graveyard in a hospital about 15 miles away. He drove, Daniel sound asleep in his car seat in the back, me frozen in time and space. He shared all the details, none of which I really wanted to know. All I wanted to know, was that my father, my daddy, my everything was still alive and that this was a horrible joke!

It wasn't. My father was walking home from a late dinner at Denny's, crossed a four lane road and headed for the railroad tracks that lay about three blocks from our family home. People did it every single day and night, it was the path travelled frequently by all locals.

It just happened that our next door neighbor was in the same restaurant that night and witnessed most of the accident. Earlier my father passed by their table, bid them goodbye, and headed home. On the four lane road, there was a cement island which served as a stopping point; a place you could look from right to left to make sure it was safe to cross.

For some reason, my father did not see the car which would send him to his imminent death! Our neighbor and other patrons agreed about the tragedy they witnessed. They all claimed my father stopped on the island, but it was too dark to see his next step after that. What they all did see was his slim, fragile body being hurled through the air and landing somewhere near the railroad tracks!!!!

He was killed instantly; the paramedics said the distance he was thrown and how he landed made certain of that! My brother continued with the details as we slowly pulled into the hospital parking lot. It was dark, by now it was about 5 a.m. We did not discuss how we would tell my mother.... we just stepped one foot in front of the other and knocked on the locked door.

It was a small nursing home hospital, so we knew everyone my mom worked with; she had been there for about seven years now. Wesley, one of the orderlies, peered through the windowed door and began to grin from ear to ear. He pushed the door open, greeted us with a happy hello and welcomed us inside. We said nothing to him and walked down the darkened hall way. He knew something was wrong!!

My mother was working on the other side of the building. There was light at the station, where several nurses charted and a slight glow low along the hallways, where night lights glistened. I was one step ahead of my brother. John lovingly carried Daniel and fell back in stride, as I moved ahead, knowing what must be done.

With each step I could see a little farther down the darkened, narrow hallway. In the distance, I saw my mother step outside one of the rooms. I thought I was going to vomit, I was scared, shaking, panic setting in. I saw her and she knew, she knew something was terribly wrong, or why would we be there!!!?

As we approached one another,closer and closer there was a "fog" in between the two of us. In the days to come, we would confide in one another about the mist, and we would tell no one. By the time we met, she reached for me and I blinked, hoping to clear my eyesight, but the fog made it impossible. It was at head level and in between the two of us.... we moved, but it was still there. It looked like a smoky mist, a low lying fog you see in the northwest or on a foggy winters night.

I was not as abrupt as my brother. I took my time and told her what happened. At the moment I pushed the words from my mouth, "he is dead," she fell to the floor. The nurses and orderly pulled her back to her feet and she stood before briefly before stumbling to the chair. At that moment, we looked into each others eyes, the fog ascended and was gone!!! For the next days, months, years our lives would become something we never imagined!! A tragedy!!!!

You see, six months after my father's tragic death, that same brother who gave me the horrific news, would kill himself!!! And devastate all of us, but of course, hurt my mother in a way she could/would never recover from!!!! It took me a complete year to forgive my brother for what he had done!!! How could he be so selfish???? How could he do this to my mother???? In the end, I realized, if he thought he had any other choice in life at that time, surely he would have taken it. For him, he had no other way.... for him suicide was the only answer.

In the coming weeks and years, my mother and I often spoke of the 'fog' we both saw that horrible night. I rarely think about it now, my mother died two years ago and took that secret with her.I am the only one left who KNOWS it was my father. He was the fog.He was there to give his baby girl, his favorite, strength to deliver the tragic news to his beloved wife.

It was my daddy and I know he ascended to a place where he is now happily reunited with my mother. It was my daddy and I still love him so very, very much!!!! And, I still miss him more than words can ever convey!!

Footnote: Two of my brothers, the one who called me and my next eldest were walking home from a night out, crossing at the stoplight about 1/4 mile from the accident scene. They saw the red lights flashing in the distance and were curious as to what was going on. They opted to stay the course and head home on the path they were headed. Had they changed their course, they would have seen my father laying dead before them.