The Diane Schuler Story: I Pray That Jodi Piccoult and Others Are Not Inspired by this Tragic Tale

Many novelists, myself included, troll the news for ideas and inspiration, but there are some stories that should be off limits, no matter how captivating and intriguing.

For me, it’s the Diane Schuler story. When the story first broke that this devoted, hard working mother of two had somehow entered the windy Taconic Parkway in the wrong direction, and that eight people died instantly as a result, including four young children, there were no words. None. Like everyone else, all I could do was stare at the haunting images of those beautiful babies and pray for their souls, pray for their families, pray for the Bastardis and the Longos, the victims in the other car, and pray for everyone who had to clean up the carnage.

For days I tried to imagine how the Schuler and Hance families were enduring- what possible comfort family and friends could offer, how they were even managing to eat, sleep, function, care about living. I tried to imagine Jackie and Warren Hance, the parents who lost all three of their stunning daughters in a fraction of a second, walking into their girls’ rooms and seeing the litany of still possessions, the stuffed animals, the clothes, the music, the photos- and not begging God to take them as well. I thought about Diane’s husband, Danny, who lost his wife and best friend, his daughter, Erin, but was spared his five-year old son, Bryan, who continues to heal in the hospital. At least Danny had a living legacy in which to hold on, I thought.

Then word came that the tragedy was still unfolding. Diane Schuler was discovered to be drunk and stoned- well beyond the legal limits- when she crashed her brother’s minivan. It explained everything and it explained nothing.

What now should her family and the world make of Diane Schuler? What were the thoughts of all those people who had attested to her being a responsible, caring mother, aunt, co-worker? The people who said goodbye to her at the campgrounds and saw nothing amiss, including the woman who was swore that “she was as sober as a judge.” The friends and neighbors who never so much as saw her with a drink in her hand?

The demolished, half- drunk bottle of Absolut found in the wreckage tells another story- the truth. And you can be assured that more of that will be spilled onto the front pages over the weeks and months to come, all while the victimized families try to regroup.

I will continue to pray for them, and I will add another prayer. I hope that Jodi Piccoult, the best-selling Queen of Tragedy, and others who toil in this field, don’t go down this road with the Schuler and Hance families. I hope that they don’t find inspiration and ideas from the underlying causes- the hidden addictions, possible money and marriage woes and whatever else is revealed. All I know is that there is some material, as rich as it would be to mine, that should not be cannibalized for the sake of hitting the best-seller list.

Going forward, these families will suffer enough without having to watch the books and surely the movies, forcing them to relive the day their hearts were forever broken.

To these writers I say, long may your fingers fly across the keyboard, and long may you share your insights and stories, but please, don’t even think of giving this tragedy your revisionist’s touch. If not for the sake of the victims and their families, then for the sake of little Bryan Schuler. Who among us doesn't hope that he will somehow carry on; that he will have the love and support he needs to enjoy  life; that he will discover the decency and goodness of the human spirit?  He does not need to ever learn which child actor was cast to play him in the film.