You see little memorials around town on the sides and medians of roads – crucifixes and other memorials mark lives remembered – the lives taken by drunk drivers.
"Every six months I come here," Carrie Jordan said of time spent at her son's marker. "The tree is growing. It's apart of Jason."
Jason died in a drunk driving crash in 2002.
"I knew he died. The doctor came in. I just started screaming. A piece of your heart gets yanked out."
Susan Cox lost her daughter 20 years ago.
"I didn't think I could survive. I could barely get out of bed. Our whole life changed. Who are we now? Where do we go?" she said.
The loved ones aren't the only ones feeling that pain.
At the Gatesville prison complex, Doris McCauley is paying for her crime. She was convicted of intoxication manslaughter and is spending 20 years in prison.
"I would give my life to this day. I wish I would have died instead of them," she said.
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Taking lives
Drunk drives take the lives of nearly 150 every year. Some families try to their pain into a positive force.
 
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McCauley killed two couples in a 2003 crash. McCauley was a woman who had never been in trouble with the law, never seen the inside of a jail cell.
This haunting scene of her sentencing plays out over and over in her mind.
"He asked me, 'My God, Ms. McCauley how fast were you going?' That's something I have to live with for the rest of my life," she said.
"The main thing is my freedom. I really miss my freedom," she said.
Although she believes she's better off behind bars.
"My life changed for the better. I no longer drink," she said.
But all the regret in the world doesn't erase the pain of the destroyed families left behind. Although some families use their pain to help others.
Jason Jordan's sister, Crystal, started speaking out at drunk-driving panels: classes for those charged with DWIs.
"It's hard to relive the emotions. Out of the 60 people, if I can touch one person, maybe my job is done," Crystal said.
Susan's pain pushed her into starting a grief support group.
"Maybe I was being a little selfish, trying to get help for me and my husband and my son. And, through that, this is what came from that pain. But, it's my passion," Susan said.
She started For the Love of Christi.
"The things that she's missing and the things that I'm missing, it seems so unfair. You don't have a choice you go forward. It's through helping others that helps me," Susan said.
