by Connie Calhoun as told on the Story Partners Podcast
It was the scariest thing in my life. I remember crying to my husband, saying, “I don’t understand why I’m going to jail for something I did not mean to do.”
The Accident
My husband woke up one morning and said that he wasn’t feeling well. He wasn’t going to work. I said, “I don’t feel great either.” He said, “I believe it’s just a stomach bug. I don’t work in a truck like you; it’s an office. There’s a bathroom there. I can go ahead and go.”
Well, I got on my way to work, and I thought, “Maybe if I get something to eat, it’s going to settle my stomach.” So I stopped by McDonald’s and got something to eat. Nobody was in the car with me. That’s my time going to work to pray.
Where we live, you have to go over the Sidney Lanier Bridge, which is this tall, massive bridge. The last thing I remember was turning onto the causeway. I did not remember anything else after that.
I woke up. There was a lady saying, “We’ve got to get out of here—the car! You’ve got to get out.” I was like, “What? Huh?” She said, “You’ve got to get out of here.” I looked, and there was smoke coming from the car. She helped me out of the marsh, and I lay on the side of the road for the paramedics to come.
The ambulance told me the first thing I kept saying was, “I need to call my husband because I don’t understand what happened.” I truly thought that I was dying because I saw blood over me. I couldn’t move my leg, and my chest was hurting. The paramedic got the phone, and he said to my husband, “She’s not dying. She had an accident. We’re en route.” They were trying to get glass out of my face, off of my neck, and everywhere. I kept asking, “Where’s my husband? I don’t understand.” I didn’t know what caused the accident.
The Investigation
A Georgia Highway Patrol officer came in and started asking me questions. He asked if I consented to a blood alcohol test. I said, “Yes,” because I don’t drink. He asked me what was in my cup, and I told him, “Flavored water.”
They were running tests on me. At this time, I still couldn’t move my leg. I had a cut on my neck and my hand. I couldn’t move my arm. Originally, they thought maybe I had a stroke. They said I was driving on the side of the road, hitting signs, and driving erratically. It ended with the front end of the car in the marsh.
Then the officer came back in. After the blood test, he told me that I actually hit someone and that someone died. I didn’t remember any of that happening. I said, “I need my husband. I need somebody to help me with this because I don’t remember.”
I realized there was a police officer sitting there to make sure I did not leave. One of the nurses asked if someone could come in to speak for me because I didn’t understand, and they said no. I was trying to wrap my head around hitting someone and someone dying. I didn’t have any intentions of doing that. I kept telling myself over and over, “See, if you had not left home, if you had not have done this, this would not have happened.”
They eventually let me go home because the State Patrol said he believed it truly was a medical issue, and he didn’t have any charges. But then, I was looking on Facebook. People were commenting that I knew this person, that I was having an affair with them, got upset, and tried to run them down on purpose. A reporter was writing so many articles that were not true. It was a racially charged time, and Brunswick, Georgia, was caught up in that.
The Ahmaud Arbery case was going on in Brunswick at that time. There was a lot of racial tension because a young Black man was shot and killed by three white men after they chased him down. The District Attorney at the time was facing accusations of hiding information; she was running for reelection and used me as a political pawn.
The Arrest
The Georgia State Patrol called and told my husband he should get a lawyer for me. We found a lawyer who said he would take the case for $10,000. All of the family pitched in. The family of the victim—who was a pastor—kept saying I “played God” with his life.
Later, we found out I was going to be charged and needed to turn myself in. That was the scariest thing in my life. I remember crying to my husband, saying, “I don’t understand why I’m going to jail for something I did not mean to do.”
The sheriff came out to meet us. I still could barely walk or move my arm. He said, “You can lean on me, and I’ll take you in to be processed.” I had to leave my family. They made me take off all my clothes in front of a guard. They made me take my partial plate out and lift my tongue. They searched me, made me bend over and cough—it takes away your dignity. They gave me clothes that someone else had worn.
Life in a Steel Box
They put me in a room with steel block walls, a hospital bed, a metal toilet, and no windows. All I could do was cry. In a matter of minutes, I went from being an upstanding citizen to a “criminal” that everyone said was having an affair and intentionally killed someone.
At my bond hearing, I was in a wheelchair, and they shackled me. I couldn’t even walk; I couldn’t move my right arm to comb my hair, yet I was handcuffed to the table. The judge denied bond. His reason was that he wanted to know why I was speeding. My lawyer kept saying, “It’s a bond hearing, not a trial,” but the judge said no.
I remember being in the shower once. They told me to knock when I was done. I knocked for about an hour, and no one came. I was standing there on my hurt leg, hot and sweaty in a steamy room with no windows, just crying. I had no clock, no calendar. I made myself a calendar on the wall to track the days.
My Turning Point
One day, I saw FBI agents taking Gregory McMichaels—one of the men who murdered Ahmaud Arbery—out of a cell across from me. I was across the hall from someone who intentionally murdered a child the same age as my son. I felt like the world thought I was the same as him.
I had to tell myself, “You’re not alone. You’ve got to go back to your faith.” I asked for a Bible, but they couldn’t find one. So when I called my son, Devyn, I told him, “I want a scripture.” You don’t get a whole pen in jail, just the ink part. I wrote down scriptures and the names of the family members who gave them to me.
One day, Devyn gave me Hebrews 11. The next day, my middle son gave me the same chapter. “Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.” I couldn’t see myself getting out, but I had to depend on Him. My sister-in-law started the hashtag #FamilyStrongInTheFaith.
The Miracle
After 36 days, my lawyer called. He said this had never happened in all his years of practicing law: the judge called him and said he wanted to grant bond because he hadn’t had a moment’s sleep since he denied it. He told my lawyer, “You must truly be a praying family.”
When I was released, I was still in a wheelchair. The guard wheeled me to the gate and said, “This is as far as I can take you.” I saw my son and asked, “Devyn, would you come and get me?” He helped me out.
Even though I was physically free, I wasn’t free from public opinion. I wouldn’t go anywhere by myself. If I had to leave the house, I would wear a mask and a hat. Once I got out, I was able to see a neurologist who confirmed it: “Yes, it’s seizures.” I had lesions on my brain that caused the blackout.
For two years, I was in limbo. Then, my lawyer, Mr. Pate, passed away. I almost totally lost it. But his assistant, Erin, told me, “I will make sure they know how personal your case is to us.”
In 2023, I got the call. “Connie, your case is over.” They dropped all charges. They consulted with my doctors and realized it was a medical issue caused by seizures and brain lesions. It was not intentional. Man put me in there, but God got me out.
A Different Perspective
The wreck happened in 2020; the charges were dropped in 2023. It still hurts to this day that someone lost their life. I’ve had to work through the guilt and understand why our lives intertwined that day.
I’m still in therapy. My therapist told me I was living my life as if I died on that day, too. I finally understand that God didn’t grant me life to stay stuck in that moment. Now, I can go out in public. I can tell my story. My testimony is a testament to how God works. I’m not who man says I am; I’m who God says I am.
