I gripped the steering wheel of my old Jeep Wrangler tighter, my knuckles turning a ghostly white. Another car stopped behind me and the driver mercilessly honked his horn trying to force me to move forward. Then he rolled down the window, stuck his head out the window and brutally shouted, "Are you blind? The light is green, for God's sake!" I hesitated, but then the red light of defiance flashed in my eyes and I felt my foot hit the floor of the car. As I sped through a red light, I looked in the rearview mirror and saw the face of the driver in the car behind me contort in utter disbelief as he and his car remained stationary. Once again, nothing happened. I wasn't impressed. I always run a red light and nothing ever happens, but the one time he runs a red light he dies. One careless mistake and her entire life will be taken away from her, and with that mine will be completely changed. How is this fair? Today is the anniversary of his death. Five years have passed since October 12, 2005, and in these five years I have been without a mother, and practically without any help....