AaronShirt LLC - Origami Angel iMonster T-Shirts

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In June 2019, my teenage niece and nephew, Ruby and Hart Campbell, were killed by a drunk driver traveling 90 miles per hour near the desert town of Joshua Tree, 133 miles east of Los Angeles. They were with their parents, on a trip to check out what they hoped would be a vacation home in one of their favorite places on earth. Ruby and Hart loved climbing the boulders at Joshua Tree State Park, and her sister Gail and brother-in-law Colin loved the surreal scenery and the peacefulness, away from their busy lives in Los Angeles. All of those dreams ended in a matter of minutes. Ruby died on impact, Hart died shortly afterward.

After the shiva week had passed, Gail and Colin asked my sister and me to stay with them in Los Angeles. Their bodies were badly bruised from the accident. Gail had glass shards on her tongue. They were traumatized, not knowing how they could get through an hour, let alone a day. Their synagogue had set up a food chain. People couldn’t sign up fast enough. Their rabbi had breakfast with them once a week after morning prayers. The community at large, their friends and colleagues, my nieces and nephews’ friends, were there for them. Hundreds of people attended the funeral. Condolences poured in, books on grief were sent, grief support groups were recommended, therapists were on hand. Ruby has obsessive-compulsive disorder, and her brilliant therapist helped all of us control our recurring thoughts: What if they hadn’t found the house, what if the test had been on a different day, what if the drunk driver had taken a different route—or better yet, what if someone had stopped her from driving? For me, the what-ifs centered around getting a call in the middle of the night. Rationally, I knew that not answering the phone wouldn’t change anything, but there was nothing rational about that moment.

The first person I called after hearing the news was my sister. Nina, more than Gail or me, had followed in our mother’s footsteps—married and had children, giving up her career to raise them. We saw her as the bossy one, even the controlling one at times. I was the typical middle child: troublemaker, attention-seeking, inattentive. And Gail, 10 years younger, was the blonde darling. Nina’s qualities were needed nowhere more than in the hours after the phone call. Nina found the fastest way for us to get to LA when I could barely speak or pack. She was the sister you want in your trenches.

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