I’m looking at a 6 year old boy. He’s dead, hit by a car. His parents looking down at his little body, they are holding the hand of their other 11 year old son. I remember little about the boy, I remember everything about the look on the faces of what was left of his family. An expression I had never seen before, and hope will never see again.
I am looking at a car of Teenagers. All dressed in jeans and T-shirts ready to drive off again, not a mark on them, except they cannot, because they are dead. I remember Anna who was killed instantly by a drunk driver. I remember her bare feet and flip flops in the foot well of the car, not her obvious fatal head injury.