The right side of Sonja Morris' Geo Prizm took the impact of a collision that involved a drunk driver, killing two occupants and severely injuring two others -- including a 2-year-old. Inset: Rose Denson, who raised six daughters, and Joe Lonac, her longtime companion, died in the wreck. It was Sept. 2, 1995, near dark, and on this Labor Day weekend the destinies of two families were about to become forever entwined and forever changed.

Sonja Morris and her 2-year-old daughter Madison, along with Mrs. Morris' mother Rose Denson, 63, and her companion Joe Lonac, 83, were headed home from a long day of celebration in Pflugerville. They had been to a baby shower for one of Mrs. Denson's six daughters, followed by a surprise birthday party honoring Mrs. Denson.

"It was a wonderful day. We had spent time with family members we hadn't seen in a long time," said Mrs. Morris, the youngest of the six girls.

All four piled into Mrs. Morris' Geo Prizm for the trip back to Lampasas. Mrs. Morris was driving, and her mother was in the front passenger seat. Lonac rode in the back seat behind Mrs. Morris, and Madison was in a child safety seat behind her grandmother.

Madison Morris' mother, Sonja, said her daughter never lost her bright spirit during the painful ordeal. She suffered a broken clavicle, a broken lower and upper arm and a broken femur -- all injuries to her right side. Inset: Madison, a Lampasas High School junior, plays volleyball, basketball and softball for the Lady Badgers. It was late -- about 8:30 or 9 p.m., Mrs. Morris recalls. Lonac, who was not wearing a seat belt, was feeding Madison chicken nuggets and French fries. Mrs. Denson was showing some of her birthday gifts to her daughter. It started out as a typical ride home.

And then it turned tragic.

About 30 miles outside Lampasas on U.S. Highway 183, Mrs. Morris had just passed a truck pulling a boat in the right-hand lane. She was driving in the inside lane.

Out of the darkness, Mrs. Morris saw headlights coming directly toward her -- in her same lane. At first she thought was mistaken, that it only looked like the lights were headed right toward her car. But as the lights appeared to close in on her vehicle, Mrs. Morris knew it was not a mistake.

"I don't know what I was thinking when I saw that car coming directly at me," she said. "I guess I didn't have time to think. I remember a feeling of panic."

And that was it. Everything went dark.

"I don't remember the actual collision or any sounds. Just headlights, then nothing."

The right side of the car -- where her mother and daughter were seated -- took the brunt of the impact.

The Prizm didn't have a chance as it collided with a Buick sedan driven by Steven Mark Sherlund, a 27-year-old Lampasas resident whose blood-alcohol content was almost three times the legal limit. Officials equated that with drinking about a case of beer, Mrs. Morris said.

"I remember a man coming up to the car door. He said, 'Ma'am, your car is on fire. You need to get out.' I know he said it several times."

Mrs. Morris immediately sought out her mother. "I looked over at her and called her name twice. All I saw was the top of her head. There was no blood. There were no sounds. I couldn't see anything else because the rest of her was covered up in metal from the car. I just knew she was gone."

And Mrs. Morris believes it was the grace of God that saved her and her daughter.

When she attempted to get out of the Prizm, Mrs. Morris realized her shoulder was dislocated. The man who came to her aid was an emergency medical technican. He had been following the driver of the other car while relaying its course of travel to Texas Department of Public Safety officials.

"The technician called in to report that the driver was swerving all over the road, he was driving erratic, and he was going faster than 70 miles an hour," said Mrs. Morris.

A DPS official was near enough that he arrived on the scene just as the vehicles came to rest after impact.

Mrs. Morris remembers telling the EMT she had to check on her baby. "Madison was lying on the ground outside of the car. No one took her out of the car; and no one has any idea how she got there. I attributed it to an angel."

The impact was so devastating it wiped out the right side of the vehicle -- the side where Mrs. Denson was seated.

Assistance also came from a passing nurse who tended to Madison, and with help from the medical technician they applied pressure to the toddler's wounds and started her on oxygen.

A passing physician also stopped to render assistance, though no one ever got his name, and he left the scene before a report was made.

Where did all the medical personnel come from who happened to be on the road at the same time that night?

"I believe God was there," Mrs. Morris said. "Even though it was the most horrible thing in the world, God put His hand on Madison and me for a reason."

With her daughter being cared for, Mrs. Morris knew she had to check on Lonac -- a man whom she and her sisters had grown to love like a father.

Lonac was facing the opposite direction, wedged between the front and back seats. He was bleeding from the ear and moaning, Mrs. Morris said. "I think he was unconscious, and I just hoped he wasn't in any pain. I started to lose it.

"I just wanted them to get him out of the car. But they said they had to wait for a backboard so his injuries wouldn't be worse. I didn't want them to wait. I wanted him out of there now."

But it was too late. Lonac was pronounced dead at the scene.

From that point on, time was consumed with a whirlwind of lights, sirens and helicopters, and a slew of questions from officials.

As Madison was being readied for a flight to the hospital, Mrs. Morris was determined the 2-year-old was not going without her mother.

"They told me the only way I could get in the helicopter with Madison was strapped to a backboard, so I told them to get to strapping."

The pair were flown to Brackenridge Hospital in Austin, where Madison was taken to the nearby children's facility. The toddler suffered a broken clavicle, a broken lower and upper arm, and a broken femur -- all injuries to the right side of her body -- as well as some serious gashes to her face.

Mrs. Morris' liver was lacerated, and her lungs were filling with blood, so she was rushed into surgery.

It had been nearly 14 hours since Mrs. Morris had seen her daughter, and all she had to cling to was a photo the medical personnel had snapped of Madison. In it, the 2- year-old's face was cut and bloodied, and an intravenous line was in her arm.

"I couldn't believe they would show me that picture. It didn't do anything but make me more upset and anxious to see her," she said.

After surgery, Mrs. Morris implored a nurse to take her to see Madison. It was done with the stipulation that Mrs. Morris didn't try to sit up or turn over, and she quickly agreed.

After being wheeled into her daughter's room on a gurney, a small voice piped up from the hospital bed: "Mommy, I love you."

As desperate as Mrs. Morris was to kiss her daughter, she knew it was physically impossible for both of them.

Madison's response? "It's OK, Mommy. I'll throw you a kiss, and you can put it in your pocket for later."

There wasn't a dry eye in the room after that, Mrs. Morris said.

The little girl spent just over a week in the hospital, and her mother was released after four days to attend the funerals of her mother and Lonac.

Sherlund was charged with two counts of attempted manslaughter and two counts of manslaughter with a deadly weapon.

Almost 18 months after the collision, he was sentenced to 14 years in federal prison. Because his car was considered a deadly weapon, Sherlund was ordered to serve seven years before being eligible for parole.

When Mrs. Morris and her family -- all who attended the trial -- heard the guilty verdict, the judge offered the family a chance to recommend a sentence.

"We talked about it for about 20 to 30 minutes," she said, "and we realized we couldn't realistically sentence someone to any amount of time. I mean, it was two lives that were taken. What is a fair punishment for that? And there is no 'eye for an eye.'

"This was too close to our hearts, and we knew we would have to live with the outcome, and we couldn't live with the thought of that, so we let the jury sentence him."

Sherlund could have received 14 years for each charge, but the jury misunderstood, Mrs. Morris said, and they concluded the maximum penalty was 14 years total.

"When the jury assessed the punishment, we all cried. It didn't make us feel any better no matter how much time he got. Nothing could bring back our mom and Joe. It wasn't a good feeling. It didn't settle anything."

After sentencing, the judge granted the family's request to speak to Sherlund.

"We told him we forgive him, and he needs to forgive himself. We realized it could as easily have been one of our nephews or someone else we knew driving that car.

"He said he was sorry that he hurt us, but I believe a 14-year sentence is not too long for what he did."

Letters are mailed to crime victims and their families when offenders are up for a parole hearing or for release.

After Sherlund served seven years, Mrs. Morris was notified he was set for a parole hearing. He was not granted release.

A second letter came to the Morris home at Sherlund's 10-year mark in prison, and again, he was denied parole.

When Sherlund's 12-year date neared, Mrs. Morris received a letter in May that he had been granted an early release.

"I was confused. I had to reread the letter, because I couldn't be- lieve it. To me, getting 14 years is good behavior. But I knew I had to make peace with it, because it is in God's hands. I thought I would be ready for when he got out, but I wasn't."

At that point, Mrs. Morris wrote a letter to the parole board expressing her hope that Sherlund would remain behind bars for the rest of his sentence. But after she spoke with the victims' service coordinator, Mrs. Morris said her perspective changed.

Release at 12 years instead of after Sherlund's 14-year sentence comes with restrictions, which Mrs. Morris believes he needs. "He will have to be under strict supervision, visit a probation officer, wear an ankle monitor, and have routine blood and breathalyzer tests," she said.

But if Sherlund stays in for the full 14 years, he will leave prison with no restrictions. "Just free and clear, just like you and me," Mrs. Morris said.

"I don't want him to have the opportunity to do this again. I want him out now so he can be monitored. I want them to help him find a job and become a functional adult so no one goes through what we went through."

Mrs. Morris said when she told Madison that Sherlund was facing early release, tears streamed down the now 16-year-old's face. "She said she wants to talk to him before he gets out."

Said Madison to her mother: "I wonder if he realizes just what he's done and that things will never be normal because of what he did."

Madison has heard Sherlund's name for years; she has seen the accident photos and has read the news articles. The teen, despite some nerve damage in her right arm, is a standout basketball, volleyball and softball player. The accident left her with some range of motion disabilities that she has learned to overcome, for the most part.

"[Sherlund] changed so many lives that one day," she said. "He will never know."

Though a number of years have passed since the accident, Mrs. Morris said she thinks of her mother and Lonac fondly and often, but she tries not to dwell on what happened.

"Reliving that is not a happy place to dwell in. That is not my life. I have to live my life now," she said.

She hopes by sharing her story a tragedy might be averted. Mrs. Morris anticipates working with "Shattered Dreams," a program presented at Lampasas High School that demonstrates the consequences of drinking and driving.

The program -- given every two years -- will be offered next when Madison, currently a junior, is in her senior year.

"I want him to be there with me and with Madison," said Mrs. Morris of Sherlund. "If I can get these kids to understand the pain that something like this causes, and that it is completely preventable, that may have an impact on them.

"I want them to see that my mom and Joe could still be here today if Sherlund hadn't gotten into that car, or if he had a friend who had taken his keys, or if he had just stayed where he was."

Mrs. Morris believes if Sherlund participates while knowing the family forgives him, he will be able to get on with his life and possibly steer others down the right path.

"If I hold him in unforgiveness, I'm in unforgiveness. I have forgiven him 110 percent. Absolutely. If I do see him, that's the first thing I will tell him. I don't harbor hate or resentment. He needs to know that.

"But having said that, if Madison would have died, I don't know if I could forgive him."

Mrs. Morris said she is a staunch believer in God but doesn't consider herself religious. "I am a Christian. Being a Christian is having a relationship with Christ and God. Truly, what we went through at that time broke our hearts and our bodies, but we have to be able to forgive."

Said Mrs. Morris: "What other choice do I have? If I live in resentment and unforgiveness, that makes me bitter. If I forgive him and move on, we can all get on with our lives."

The Lampasas resident said she is not naive in thinking teens won't ever drink. "Unfortunately, it's socially acceptable and so readily available at so many homes. I just want them to know that if they have to drink, they should stay put and not get behind the wheel of a car.

"If [Sherlund] had stayed where he was that night, we wouldn't be talking about this now."

Mrs. Morris and her family have suffered since the loss of their loved ones, and they continue to grieve.

It's been hardest, she said, when her son Mason was born, or when her daughter has had a birthday without her grandmother. "Randy and I just celebrated our 20th wedding anniversary," she said of her husband. "I literally looked up to the heavens and said, 'Mom, you'd be so proud of me.'

"It's always hard, but those times are hardest. But I don't live there. I still cry, but I don't want people to feel sorry for me. I just believe I have a story to tell. I want this to empower them and make a difference in other lives, and to let people know they can survive this, but it can be stopped before it ever starts."

Mrs. Morris said she doesn't want Sherlund to forget what he did, but she wants him to forgive himself. "What if it were your child who had done this? Wouldn't you want them to forgive themselves? Would you think he deserves this? This is someone else's child; someone's brother, someone's best friend.

"He made a horrible mistake, a bad choice, but God says forgive so you can be forgiven. I make a lot of mistakes, but I don't want how I feel about [Sherlund] to keep me from being forgiven."

Said Mrs. Morris: "God spared our lives. I believe that if God gives you a second chance, you need to make the most of it. Even Sherlund. I hope he takes this tragedy and never drinks and drives again. I hope someday he makes a positive difference in someone's life.

"I just want people to know that this does happen. If one kid reads this and thinks before he gets into a car, and that it's not worth what could happen, then maybe it will make a difference.

"And if it saves even one life, I have to believe that maybe Mom and Joe will not have died in vain."