On October 16, 1981, our family was at a high school football game, enjoying a crisp fall evening together when my 14-year-old son, Ken, accepted a ride home from a 17-year-old senior. That young driver had been drinking, and crashed his car, trapping Ken in the car, which burned him alive.
The driver walked away without a scratch and any major consequences, really. He was charged with aggravated vehicular homicide, but the charges were reduced. He ended up paying a $50 fine, was placed on six months’ probation, and lost his license for six months.
Meanwhile, my entire family was devastated. We still are. We had to learn how to carry our grief. So much of our family’s future was stolen that day. Ken was such a vibrant young boy—the quarterback on his freshman football team, and an avid drummer. He loved baseball more than anything and pitched on a local team alongside his two younger brothers. After Ken was killed, they never played again. I have missed so many precious moments with Ken since: birthdays, graduations, team wins, and drumming gigs. I will never get to see him get married or hold his children. Today, Ken would be 58 years old. Instead, he is forever 14.
Just three weeks after Ken’s death, another family in a neighboring school district lost their daughter to an impaired driver. Her mother and I found each other in our grief — and in our determination. In December 1981, we co-founded the MADD Southwestern Ohio chapter.
We were not policy experts. We were mothers whose children had been killed. But we knew something had to change. We worked tirelessly to strengthen legislation, raise public awareness, and support other victims and survivors of impaired driving. We spoke in schools, met with lawmakers, stood in courtrooms, and comforted families facing the same nightmare. Out of our heartbreak, we built a movement rooted in prevention, accountability, and hope.
Through that work, I found purpose. I found my voice. I found strength I didn’t know I had. And I gained a lifelong friend in the woman who stood beside me at the beginning. I visited her recently in her nursing home. Our losses happened just three weeks apart, but our shared mission carried us through decades. We leaned on each other, and together we helped build change that has saved lives.
Even though I lost Ken 45 years ago, I still fear losing another loved one to an impaired driver. It’s heartbreaking and deeply discouraging that impaired driving continues to claim so many lives—especially when we know this violence is 100% preventable, and we now have technology that can stop it from destroying more families.
The HALT Drunk Driving Law, passed by Congress in 2021 with bipartisan support, requires new vehicles to include technology that can detect and stop impaired driving. The Insurance Institute for Highway Safety estimates that this measure will save over 10,000 lives annually. Yet, more than four years later, the federal government has repeatedly missed deadlines to implement the law.
Meanwhile, Ohio Senator Moreno continues to question why sober drivers should have impaired driving prevention technology in their vehicles. Let me answer that question—because impaired driving is a threat to everyone. Every family. Every community. My child would still be here if this technology had stopped that young man from driving drunk.
As someone who has spent more than four decades fighting this issue, as a mother who buried her child and as a co-founder of a MADD chapter, I can say this with certainty: The only people who should fear this technology are those who choose to drive impaired. The ones who have experienced this pain want no more families to experience the kind of loss they did.
To my fellow Ohioans, and to lawmakers everywhere: this is not about politics. It is about prevention. No other child should be frozen in time because someone made the reckless choice to drive impaired. We have the solution. We have the law. Now we need the will to implement it.
For Ken. For every life already lost. And for every life we still have the power to save.
