Image by Amrita Bharati from Pixabay

LIVID: Learning, Insight, and Voices on Impaired Driving contains discussions of impaired driving, traumatic injury, death, grief, and the justice system. Listener discretion is advised.

The content of this podcast reflects personal experiences and opinions and is provided for educational and awareness purposes only. It does not constitute legal, medical, or professional advice.

Any references to legal matters are based on publicly available information or lived experience and are not intended to influence or comment on the outcome of ongoing legal proceedings.

Two young women celebrating their plans for an upcoming wedding stop for ice cream on a Sunday afternoon.
They order Blizzards from Dairy Queen.

Less than five minutes later, both women are dead.

An impaired driver crossed the centre line and hit them head-on.

For Connie Beatty, that frozen Blizzard left untouched in her daughter Rebecca’s cup holder became a symbol of everything stolen in an instant.

In this episode of LIVID, Connie shares the story of losing her daughter Rebecca to impaired driving, navigating a criminal trial, and the extraordinary ways she’s chosen to honour her daughter’s life—from ‘Blizzard for the Girls’ to Day of the Dead celebrations in Mexico to a MADD Hatter Tea Party fundraiser that is helping save lives.

This is a story about devastating loss—but also about legacy, resilience, and what it means to keep loving someone after they’re gone.

The morning after my daughter Abbey was killed… the sun came up.

Traffic moved.
Coffee was poured.
People went to work.

The world continued as if nothing had happened.

But everything had happened.

That was the day I learned something painful:
tragedy changes everything for a family… and almost nothing for society.

So why don’t these stories create change?

Four and a half years and a seven year driving ban.

In Canada, what is a life worth?

967 days of waiting led to a 4.5-year sentence for the man who killed my daughter.

That’s what the system calls justice.

But if justice is supposed to heal, deter, or even make sense… why didn’t it?

I watched him get handcuffed. I watched him walk away.

And then everyone asked me the same question…

‘Do you feel better now?’

I didn’t.

So what is justice… when the person you love doesn’t come back?

967 days. That’s how long I waited to hear a sentence for the man who killed my daughter. Four and a half years and a seven year driving ban. That’s what her life was worth in a Canadian courtroom. I watched him get handcuffed. I watched him walk away. And everyone asked me the same question… ‘Do you feel better now?’ I didn’t. So what is justice… when the person you love doesn’t come back?

When Abbey died one of the things people often said to me was “I can’t imagine what you are going through”. That’s fair. Losing your child to an impaired driver is horrendous and no one wants to imagine it. In giving my victim impact statement to the court, I needed to articulate exactly this, the impact of my daughter being killed. Get some tissues, this is not pretty.

In British Columbia, and throughout Canada, victims of crime have a right to be heard in court through Victim Impact Statements, but do they matter? Do they influence sentencing? Or are they just a way to placate victims? Why bother? On February 25, 2026 I gave my victim impact statement in court. Did it matter? In this episode, we’ll talk about what I learned.

Go 136km/hr in a 50 zone. Blow through 2 red lights. Cause 1st collision. Reverse, go around the wreckage, run 3 more red lights, nearly miss another car, run the next red and hit your second victims. Stop dead. Blood Alcohol 3 times the legal limit. You are now a killer. Abbey’s dead, I’m terrified, you should be too. Impaired driving MUST stop.