Three years after the death of Amy Schnearle-Pennywitt, it’s worth revisiting one of the comments on my original post:

Burrill, your account of the crash was forwarded to me at home by coworkers at the police department. It has provided an open forum for thought and reflection for those of us that played a small role that day. I am certain there is a God and that terrible day touched all our lives for one reason or another. I can say with absolute conviction my involvement on January 7, 2006 was meant to be.

I was the third officer to arrive at the scene and the drive to get there in one piece is one I will never forget. As quickly as I wanted to get there, the conditions would not allow me. The weather was evidenced by the amount of cars I drove past run off the roadway on Westbound 94. As I would try and push the gas pedal down farther my car would start to fishtail, wanting to get there in one piece and be able to offer some assistance was my main goal. The drive seemed to take forever and the radio traffic while en route was frightening and I began to pray out loud in the patrol car.

When I arrived on scene, Amy was being put on the stretcher. The fear in her coworkers eyes paralyzed me for a moment. My experience and training kicked in. While trying to organize the series of events that lead up to the crash, I kept praying for Amy. My ultimate assignment was to interview the man that actually struck Amy. I was mad, angry and ready to give him an earful. When I got to the hospital he was all by himself laying on a gurney in the back hallway of the ER. Still strapped down with the neck collar on he was wiping the tears from his face as I approached. He recognized me from the crash and immediately asked about the firefighter. I relayed what I knew stressing the gravity of the situation. He began to sob and I teared up as well. He appeared to be a simple guy, dressed in a flannel shirt heading to his laborer’s job that fateful morning. My anger began to melt away as this grown man sobbed. I asked him to take a blood test to ascertain whether there was any alcohol or drugs in his system. He said to “do to him whatever I needed to” (his actual words). I was so torn, what I wanted to do was grab him, shake him yell at him for what he had done, but his remorse and actions made me feel sorry for him.

A few days after the crash I went to see Amy at the hospital. From what we had been told, there was a slim chance she would regain consciousness and have a viable life. I had met Amy prior to that day on a few calls but was not a friend. When I think about her I think about her cute pink toenails as she lay in the hospital bed. I commented on it and was told her mom had painted them for her. How precious.

This past summer I retired as a police officer after 14 years of service. I am not ashamed to say the events of that January morning played a role in my decision. Life is too fragile, I have known it all along, but when it hits that close to home, it gets you thinking. I have three beautiful children that I stay at home with now. My role that day has brought me here,to be home with my kids. I miss the calls and the people but the thoughts in the back of my mind of “this might be the call that takes me away from my family” have ended. I am proud of my 14 years, and enjoyed it but I have a more important calling in life. So, even though I can’t say I knew Amy, I can say she touched my life profoundly. Whenever I paint my daughters toes, I think of Amy and smile.
Lisa