It was my sister in the vehicle with Randy the night they were hit by Keenan Broussard on Interstate 75. My husband and I flew out to Chattanooga from Toronto to be with Alison and to eventually bring her home. We, alongside her friend Nicole, were the ones to witness the aftermath of this horrific tragedy. It was us listening to the tears, the anger and the disbelief as Alison relived and recounted what happened. We watched her struggle to do simple tasks like sit up, lift her arms or to even move her legs.
She suffered head trauma, three broken ribs, a punctured lung as well as numerous cuts, scraps and bruises. Her head was stapled back together. While I know these wounds will eventually heal, the scars will not.
There are no words of comfort you can offer to someone who lost the love of their life in such a senseless and preventable crime. And make no mistake, this was a crime. It wasn't an accident. When you lift an alcoholic drink to your mouth, then get behind the wheel of a car, you are knowingly and willingly committing a crime. I hope that you, Keenan Broussard, suffer the way you have made Alison and Randy suffer.
It's shameful to me that you will eventually be allowed to put this behind you, start over somewhere fresh while Randy lies dead in a grave and Alison tries to piece together the shattered pieces of her life.