As an adult, I often reflect on earlier times. When things were simple, unabridged, carefree. Upon reflection, when I think about life's lessons and those individuals who I have had the privilege of knowing, people who have taught me something meaningful about life, I think about Desmond.

The year was 1986. I met Desmond while working at Imperial Health Spa. I was an aerobics instructor (do you remember aerobics or am I showing my age), and he, a bodybuilder. Handsome, loud and oftentimes offensive, Desmond and I started off by having a sort of love-hate relationship. He always seemed to be rude and obnoxious to me any time he would come in to the gym! Why, I did not know, but it bothered me, because I found him rather attractive in a dysfunctional sort of way, so I decided that the meaner he got, the nicer I was going to become! After-all, what is it they say about attracting more bees with honey? Eventually, my strategy worked and we fell in love.

Desmond was just about the best boyfriend I had ever had. He was tender, loving and thoughtful. He wrote me beautiful love poems that would melt an ice-queen's heart. Sometimes, when I arrived home from a busy day at work, he would have a brand new outfit that he bought for me laying out on the bed, complete with the perfect set of matching jewelry and shoes! I had never had anyone treat me so special. He was the first guy that actually told me he loved me! No one had ever said that to me before. But he did. He seemed to love me unconditionally and believe me, during that particular period of my life, that proved difficult, in fact nearly impossible, for anyone else besides my family to accomplish.

We had been dating for about 9 months and for my 27th birthday, we decided we would go to Ensenada Mexico and celebrate. We both enjoyed clubbing, dancing and indulging in a little bit of drinking at that time. I remember the message he left on his best friend's answering machine before we left that day. Full of anticipation, not a care in the world, he bid his friend goodbye and off we went.

We arrived in Mexico without provocation. We did the 3 D's, dining, dancing and drinking most of the weekend. On Saturday, we went to a beautiful, seaside restaurant and had a lovely lunch in the hot Mexican spring sunshine. We sat on the sandy beach and talked for a long time, about what, I don't know. But we always had much to say to each other about nothing. We just enjoyed talking with one another. We were best friends. At this point, I wanted to go to one of the most popular bars in Mexico, Papas and Beer. Desmond did not really want to go, but he eventually gave in to my pleading and we left the restaurant to go to this popular HOT SPOT of Ensenada. If I had known then, what I know now, I would have made another choice that fateful day.

Desmond and I arrived at the bar and started to drink heavily. Beer and shots of tequila abounded and everyone seemed to be having a great time. But when drinking is involved, good times can abruptly come to an end, and that is exactly what transpired for us that day. For reasons that I care not to comment about, let's just say it was over jealousy, we got into a huge fight. I was literally picked up by the federales and removed from the bar. At that point, I became increasingly more agitated because he stayed in there drinking. I was really angry about that, and when he finally came out, he was more intoxicated than I had ever seen him. As he headed towards his car, I attempted to stop him and we got into another huge fight. This time it got somewhat physical, but he never hit me. He eventually pushed me down and walked away. As I tried to go after him, I was held back by the federales. I screamed at him not to go, that he was too drunk to drive, but he would not listen to me. He got in his truck and sped off into the night. That was the last time I ever saw Desmond.

I waited for him to return, alone, in the ominous darkness, on the steps of an old broken down building. I still see myself sitting there waiting for him to come back to me. After-all, he had left me places before, but he ALWAYS returned. Not this time. After about 4 hours, it was apparent that he had really left me for good. Thank God I had money in my shorts as he had all my belongings in his truck. I tried to find a hotel, but there were no vacancies, so I ended up paying a local family $40 to house me overnight. They fed me, cleaned me up and even let me sleep in their master bedroom. They were very kind to me and I was grateful for that. I placed a call to my family and told them that Desmond had left me there, would they come pick me up. The next day, my father and brother drove all the way from Orange County to cart me home, their wayward soul of a daughter. During the physical removal of my person from the bar that day, I had lost a diamond watch that Desmond had given me. All I could think about on the way home was how was I going to explain to him that I lost that watch. I even considered buying a new one so he would not find out at all.

When we crossed the border, I asked my father to pull over, I felt very compelled all of a sudden to call Desmond. I phoned everyone; his house, his parents, his sister. No one was home. Odd, I thought, as it was a Sunday. Finally, I reached his sister's boyfriend. "Where's Desmond" I asked. "What do you mean where is Desmond", he screamed at me. "Desmond is dead!". I can't remember what happened after that. I know I was screaming....loud, guttural screams from somewhere deep and dark inside me. I was hitting the phone over and over onto the receiver and my father and brother had to literally pick me up off the ground and carry me to the car. We drove home in silence. Death seems to render people speechless sometimes. But what did I know about death. About grief. I had never experienced anyone close to me dying before. Until now.

Desmond died in a tragic car accident that night. His truck rolled into a ditch and he died of massive head injuries. A valuable lesson for me at such a young age, you might think, but my life seemed to spiral downward after I lost him. Grief beat me down and killed my spirit. My soul felt eternally empty. I lay motionless in my bed day after day, not wanting to go on. I drank till I passed out, in fact, drinking was the only thing that got me through it. At that time, I had nothing else to ease the pain, nothing that was familiar, anyways.

One night, after about 4 months, I awoke at a very early hour to an icy chill in my bones. It seemed as if the stark, cold wind was blowing magically right inside my bedroom, funny, because the windows were closed. I looked up and saw Desmond standing at the side of my bed. He was radiant! Illuminated in a light so bright, I was amazed at how magnificent he appeared! He held his hand out to me and said "Come, it is time to get out of bed now!" I asked him, what did he mean. He replied, "it is time for you to get out of the bed now and go on with your life!" I cried to him that I could not, I was hurting so badly, how could I go on without him. He simply reached out his hand and helped me up, seemingly lifting me off the bed. As I stood there in the darkness, I started to speak to him again, but in an instant he was gone. That very next day, I awoke, inspired, and went and got a new job and started to piece together a life that had been torn apart by grief.

From beyond the grave, Desmond sent me a powerful spiritual message that night that literally helped save me from myself. I think of him often and at times, wonder where we would be today if we had made different choices.

Drinking and driving is NEVER ok! It knows no boundaries, killing people young and old, rich or poor, black or white. It tears both individuals and families apart. And let's face it, at some point in our lives, many of us are guilty of it! In 2005, there were 16,885 alcohol related fatalities in the United States, 39% of the total traffic fatalities for that year. Of these alcohol related accidents, California had the highest incidence, topping off the charts at a whopping 1,719 deaths related to alcohol and The District of Colombia, the fewest at 26 deaths. Although, since 1985, this number has declined overall, it is no consolation for the family members left behind to face the battle of grieving a loved one lost to one thoughtless act.

Drinking and driving is always about making choices. Which choice will you make this holiday season?