Photo:Durham Constabulary
Photo:Durham Constabulary
Photo:Durham Constabulary
Mari Johnson
In July 2021 Mari Johnson lost her mother and stepfather in a fatal crash on the A1(M) in the north of England. Three years later, through restorative justice, she came face-to-face with the man responsible for their deaths.
I hadn’t spoken to my mum for 10 years prior to the accident. My parents had separated which had built a barrier between me and my mum. But then my daughter was getting to an age when she was asking about her grandparents, so I got in touch with my mum and we decided to let sleeping dogs lie. I was getting on great with my mum, and with my stepdad too who’d been in my life for 20 years. Both of them ran community groups but Dave had massive mental health issues and on the day of the accident, my mum had picked him up from hospital and was driving home along the A1.
That night my daughter took my phone to her bedroom. I was asleep, but at five in the morning she shouted that I’d had thirty missed calls from my mum’s sister. When I rang my aunt back, she just kept saying, ‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.’ I was really confused. Eventually she said, ‘Your mum’s died in a car accident.’ And then, in the next breath, she said, ‘Dave’s died with her.’
I sat on the stairs in an absolute daze, thinking it can’t be true. Eventually the liaison officers came to my house. I had to have DNA taken to identify my mum. I found out that the traffic had been at a standstill. A lorry driver had been on his mobile looking at sex sites. He’d been totally distracted and ploughed into my mum and Dave’s car. Their car then hit the car of the gentleman in front who unfortunately was also killed. The lorry then slid and hit two further cars injuring two women – one of them very badly. The driver’s cab detached and started rolling down the motorway. At this point there were lads from the army nearby who went and bashed in the window and dragged the lorry driver out. Extraordinarily he came away without a scratch.
When my mum and Dave’s bodies were finally released, they were taken to the chapel of rest, but we weren’t able to see them because it was like they’d been in a bomb explosion. Thank God I’d been adult enough to build bridges with my mum again. I wouldn’t have been able to deal with the tragedy if I hadn’t. But I was sore with hurt and anger. I was having terrible nightmares and couldn’t sleep. My depression and my anxiety took a dip. I wasn’t cleaning the house; I wasn’t getting bathed or washing my hair. I would get my daughter off to school and then just literally lie on the sofa all day. My daughter was my saving grace.
The driver of the lorry (a Romanian national living and working in the UK) was arrested and released on bail. He pled guilty and received eight years and eleven months. In court his barrister apologized on his behalf, but he never looked at us. I could see his shoulders shake and he was crying. Then his barrister turned and said, Mr. Onut would like to start his sentence right away. It was coming up to Christmas, and I couldn’t believe he’d want to start a prison sentence earlier than he had to. My liaison officer told me he was actually a nice man and very remorseful.
At the end of that summer, I moved cross-country to start a new job, hoping it might be a chance to have a fresh start. However, I had no family or friends to support me as I entered a two-year civil lawsuit.
I told the Police I wanted to meet him. It wasn’t about forgiveness at this stage; it was about wanting to know whether he was really sorry. So, I asked to have restorative justice, and I kept pushing for it even though it took another three years. When I told people about this I expected a backlash, but everyone was supportive of my decision, even my sister and brother. They could see this was my closure.
I would have liked to meet him in person but by the time everything was in place he’d been moved to another secure facility, and was soon to be deported back to Romania to complete his sentence. So we met via video link. I was in my house with my liaison worker, and he had his prison liaison officer with him. I was the first to talk. He cried and kept apologizing. But I just said, ‘Stop the tears please, crying’s not going to bring anybody back.’ He also spoke about his daughter who he couldn’t see anymore because she’d been born in the UK.
Then there was this moment which broke the ice. I told him I’d kept mum and Dave’s ashes on the windowsill until out of curiosity I’d opened the casket one day and accidentally spilled them on the carpet. As I realised all I could do was hoover them up, I’d imagined my mum jokingly saying, ‘She’s had to suck you up in the hoover, Dave!’ Even his prison liaison officer was trying not to laugh. It was a bit of humour that made us both feel more comfortable.
Overall, it was a nice conversation, which sounds ridiculous when you’re looking at somebody who’s done such a horrible thing. I said to him, ‘Look it was an accident. I can’t sit in front of you now and tell you I’ve never used my mobile phone while I’ve been driving.’
I felt empathy for him. I thought you’re a human being; you were at the scene and saw the carnage of what happened. Your punishment is having to live with the trauma of what you’ve done every time you close your eyes.
When I told him I forgave him, he cried again, and again I said, ‘Please, just stop!’ But then I told him that if my mum and Dave were here now, I think they would forgive him too. My mum would have probably slapped him first, but she had a big heart, and so did Dave. They wouldn’t have wanted him to suffer. They were caring, lovely, nice people and would have given him a hug and said, ‘Look, this happened; it was an accident. Wrong place, wrong time.’
