A Letter

This is a letter I have written to the state of New York, and to one man in particular.

I’m going home next week. And maybe the week after that, too.

A few of my closest friends are at home, stuck in that post-college and pre-employment period I recall finding myself in a year ago. I’ll see some of the boys and we’ll watch the NBA Finals, exchanging stories and crude jokes, I’m sure. Maybe I’ll go fishing with my best friend, Ben, or beat him in tennis (again). Time is ticking, our lives’ journeys are taking us all over the map. In just a few weeks, one friend is moving to Washington, D.C., and another is bound for Hawaii. I want to maximize the most out of this precious time that I can with some of the people who have helped shape me today.

But there’s one person, one very special person, who I know will never leave our hometown. I know I can go see her at any moment, and she’ll be there. She’ll listen to me. She’ll support me. Just like she always has, just like she always will.

The only problem is, she can’t say anything back to me.

Like many of you reading this, I’ll never forget that night. The night that changed us all forever. It was a Saturday night, the first of December nearly six years ago.

Has it been that long?

I sat in the chair in front of my computer, likely doing my homework. I wasn’t in the best mood; my junior basketball season had tipped off the night before, and we lost a game we shouldn’t have lost.

Some time after 10:00 p.m., my parents called me downstairs. My mom had been on Twitter.

“There’s been an accident.”

We flipped on the TV. Breaking news, the screen read. The banners confirmed what Twitter had said--an accident had occurred on I-87, northbound, not very far from where I lived.

I could go on and on about the intimate details of that night. And every night for the next week. And the wakes. And the funerals. And the memorial basketball games. And the softball tournaments. And the chorus concert. And the foundation. And the scholarship. And the balloon releases. And becoming friends with her friends, some of the most inspiring and strongest people I know.

But you, Dennis Drue, don’t need to hear all that. Because no matter what I say, no matter what any of us say, you think it’s OK to walk free this December, six years after you ended the most special friendship I’ve ever had. Six years after you ended the strongest father-daughter bond I’ve ever seen. Six years after you took away the beautiful, loving girlfriend of a boy who needed someone like her in his life to keep him grounded and focused.

Six years, is that really all it’s been?

You were drunk that night. I don’t know how they let you leave the bar to get behind the wheel. Oh, and you were high. Oh, and you were texting someone (to get more drugs). And to top it all off, you were blazing past the 65-mph speed limit on the area’s most popular highway.

And then you changed lanes, failing to see the black SUV driven by Chris Stewart.

You crushed that car. You demolished that car. You pulverized the ribs, feet, arms, and neck of Matthew Hardy and Bailey Wind.

And you killed Chris Stewart on impact.

And you killed Deanna Rivers, reducing the best best friend I’ve ever had to nothing but a lifeless mixture of bones, bruises, and blood.

And for that, you don’t deserve to see the light of day.

I used to be able to call Deanna whenever I needed advice or a friend. My teammates always made fun of me. Sometimes it got to me, and I needed someone to pick me up. She always did. Every. Single. Time.

Now when I need that support, I have to drive to Mechanicville. I go through a gate, and then I navigate my little ‘02 Honda Civic through the thin roads of the cemetery, and snake my way up and down the roads and around trees until I arrive at her grave.

In the winter, I bring a foldable chair and sit down in front of her. I usually look at what new decorations have come since I’ve last been there. Birthday cards, Christmas cards, Happy New Year cards, and similar decorations always adorn the granite memorial to her life. In the summer, I just sit on the ground. And then we talk.

Well, I talk.

She listens. But I know she’s there. I know she would say something if she could.

I struggle with making friends. I’ll admit it. I hold people to really high standards. If you don’t align with my values (the same values Deanna once had) then I generally don’t waste my time pretending to like you.

Because of that, I didn’t have many friends at UAlbany. I really don’t have any lasting friends from my college years. That’s more a fault of my own than other people’s, so don’t feel sorry for me.

But I know I would have had one. And that would have been all I needed to get me through.

St. Rose, just minutes down the road from UAlbany, accepted Deanna a few weeks after you took her away from us. I always think about all the memories we would have made in college. The UAlbany basketball games. The trips to my favorite sub place, DiBella’s. The stupid drunken nights in a dorm room. Sitting and doing homework by the fountain. Deanna introducing me to another one of her best friends, Sizzy, and the three of us hanging out all the time.

But we never got to do that.

I did get to meet Siz. And OB. And all her crazy relatives. And I got to know GiGi better, and J-Dawg, and her mom and dad.

When I spend time with these people, it’s generally at Deanna’s house. Deanna and her family loved to watch Duke basketball games together. A Duke fan myself, I came over several times to come watch games with Deanna and her family.

And I still do.

Except, Deanna is now in a picture frame. Sitting on top of the mantle above the fireplace.

Because you took her away from us.

Matching sweatshirts generously given to us by the Rivers'.

When we all gather now, it’s not just to watch the Duke game. It’s to laugh. It’s to joke. It’s to listen to Daddy Rivs talk about all his new gadgets. It’s for Dylan to unleash the Rivers’ stupid dog on me (I’m afraid of big dogs).

And it’s to honor Deanna the best way we know how.

By loving everyone who deserves our love and attention.

“When you love with all your heart, life becomes one big smile.”

That’s what Deanna’s grave reads. It took time after we lost you, DeeDee, but I’m smiling. Because my heart is full of love. The love you inspired me to have.

But to you, Dennis Drue, I’m not convinced your heart is full of love. I’m not sure if it ever has been. You showed no remorse the day you were sentenced in court. I remember. I was there.

I certainly believe in second chances. I know people make mistakes. People can learn from them, and I’ll respect anyone who shows progress after they acknowledge a misstep and get better from it.

But you already had a second chance, and you blew it.

Prior to your murders of two of the finest young people in the world, you had an extensive record of serious traffic violations. Even with that checkered past, you did what you did on December 1, 2012.

How can we trust you? How can the parents of 18-year-old sons and daughters trust you?

I don’t believe you should spend your entire life behind bars, but just six years? Six years, seven years, eight years, nine years...no amount of time you serve will ever replace the amount of time we lost with Deanna. No amount of time you serve will ever compensate for the loss of a daughter, a girlfriend, a best friend, a teammate, and more.

And for that, I beg you, the state of New York, do not let Dennis Drue out. To have him out in six years would be a disgrace to the memories of Chris and Deanna. It would be a slap in the face to me, their families, and the entire Shen community that was affected by your unspeakable actions that fateful night.

Speaking of slap in the face, that’s something I’ve always wanted to do to you.

But, I’ll be the bigger man here. I won’t do it. Hopefully, the opportunity never presents itself. Because you better stay stuck behind those bars for as long as we possibly can keep you.

This is a letter I have written to the state of New York.

If you would like to write a letter of your own explaining why you think Dennis Drue shouldn't walk free, please contact me and I will tell you how to do so.