The memorial changes with the seasons as the Homosassa family tends to its shrine to a crash victim. Such sites serve as public places to grieve.
By LOGAN NEILL
Published July 20, 2004
Just off a sweeping curve on County Road 491, not far from the Hernando-Citrus border, a sprawling old live oak provides a shady respite from the blistering sun.
An occasional butterfly floats by. In the distance, a flock of cattle egrets congregate on the rolling hillside, their wings flapping in curious, silent communication.
Louise Houston believes her husband would have loved this place. He would have stood at the weathered board fence, looked out upon the acres of green pasture and felt at peace.
That knowledge has kept her coming back to the spot where Keith Houston died a year and a half ago. Despite the memories, Louise Houston said she finds comfort here that she finds nowhere else.
"This is a closure, my way of healing a deep wound in my heart," Louise said as she gently pats dirt around a strand of silk peonies she has planted.
The roadside memorial that spreads around the trunk of the oak tree stands not far from the place where Keith took his last breath at the age of 42. Every few weeks, she drives from her home in Homosassa to the emotional shrine dedicated to the man she said she will love forever.
The reasons she comes are many, she said. Some are explained by the objects she brings to the site.
A sculpture that hangs from a branch bears the insignia of the Tampa Bay Bucs, Keith's favorite football team. Near a small bed of flowers are small plastic windmills, the same ones Keith bought for their yard not long before he died. And then there are the small angel and dove statuettes scattered throughout, symbols to Keith from his wife that someone is always watching over him.
"I started it about a week after he died," Louise said of the memorial. "I'm not sure exactly why, other than this was the last place we were together before he died. Sometimes I'll come out here and just talk to him, or just to have a good cry. It's difficult to explain. All I know is that it always makes me feel better." She said the visits do more to comfort her than trips to his grave site in Citrus County.
Just as they are in many parts of Florida, roadside memorials are a common sight along Hernando County's roadways. From simple crosses bearing the names of crash victims, to displays featuring huge wreaths, framed photos and personal mementos of loved ones, the memorials serve as vivid reminders of sudden, tragic loss.
Though the state road department discourages the practice of personal memorials within the right of way of most highways, the sheer number of them makes any crackdown effort difficult. For the most part, mowing and maintenance crews tend not to disturb the markers out of respect.
Nancy Makar, a licensed clinical social worker and psychotherapist with Pathways Counseling in Hernando County, said people create such displays for many reasons. Some are created to serve as warnings of the dangers of hazardous driving. However, the majority seem to be created simply to bring attention to someone special.
"Our country is more open about the grieving process than it used to be," Makar said. "A roadside memorial offers loved ones an outlet to share their loss. It says that someone great has died here. The hope is that when you drive by, you'll be aware of that person as well. In doing so, you give it energy."
That's what Louise Houston believes. Often, when she is at the memorial, passing motorists will honk and wave. Occasionally, they even stop to talk to her. She's happy to oblige.
"Keith was everything to me," Louise said. "My daughter adored him. Everyone did."
By all accounts, Keith Houston was an affable fellow. A district manager for Applebee's, he oversaw five restaurants in Pasco, Hernando and Citrus counties. Employees called him "Big Daddy Keith," and some even would stop by his house to watch NASCAR racing on TV with him.
To Louise, he was the man of her dreams. They married in May 2000 and set about creating a life together.
"You build dreams together, and then one day it's all gone in the blink of an eye," she said.
For Louise Houston, the memories of Keith's last day are still vivid. She remembers the call she got from him about 8:30 p.m. Dec. 6, 2002, to tell her he would be home from work in a half-hour. About the same time, 24-year-old Aaron Dwayne Moman was heading onto CR 491 in his 1991 Chevrolet Camaro.
Florida Highway Patrol investigators think Moman was rounding the curve at a high speed when he lost control of his car and crossed the center line into the path of Keith's northbound 2002 Dodge pickup. The grinding collision split Moman's car in two, killing him on impact. Keith's truck plowed into the wreckage of the Camaro and spun off the shoulder of the road.
When Keith failed to show up at home, Louise and her teenage daughter, Raynna, went looking, retracing the route she figured he would take. When she saw the flashing lights of emergency vehicles, Louise could feel that things were not right.
"I remember asking if it was Keith's truck," she recalled. "When they told me it was, I pleaded with them to let me see him, but they wouldn't let me. At that point, I could feel all the life drain from my body."
These days, when Louise visits the memorial, she tries to focus on happier times. It's always difficult. A few feet from her husband's shrine is another memorial that was put up by the Moman family to honor their own loss. Adorned with pictures of Aaron Dwayne Moman and decorated with stones and flowers, Louise admits she pays little attention to it when she visits.
"That is their space, and I respect it," she said.
For a time, she admits, the sight of the other cross made her bitter. But she began to think that Keith wouldn't have wanted her to feel that way.
Instead, she endeavors to keep the area tidy and presentable to anyone who happens by. She and Raynna, now 15, will rake leaves and cut the grass by hand so the county roadside mowing crews will not have to.
"A lot of people put up memorials and then forget about them, and that's sad," she said. "I do this to honor my husband's memory. To me, this is a sacred place."
