It rained all afternoon. It was Saturday, September 28, 2013, and I was dining with friends at Sazani’s in Peoria, a river-side Italian restaurant on Route 29. A few miles down that same road, another friend of mine, Julie Peters, was celebrating a wedding with her friends at the American Legion Hall in Chillicothe.

I hadn’t been to Peoria in four years, so my being there the very night that Julie went missing seems odd to me. I had snuck into town the night before as a stop-over from a trip to Des Moines, stayed for dinner, then left for home the next morning and settled back into my daily routine.

Monday morning, I was scrolling through Facebook when I was alarmed by a post by Julie’s sister, Stacy. Julie hadn’t returned home Saturday and no one has heard from her since. That’s not like Julie.

As most of you already know, Julie was found in her car in the Illinois River the following week. She never made it back up to Route 29. Apparently, she took a left on W. Walnut Street and not a right.

I cannot describe the anger that wells up inside of me when I run this scene through my mind. Who, in their right mind, allows a road to run directly into the river without posting warning signs, flashing lights or constructing a gate? Who does that? Chillicothe does.

I know this road. It’s stuck in my mind because when I first saw it back in 2007, I had to drive past it several times to believe what I was seeing. I actually drove down this road right up to the river, stopped and stared at it because I couldn’t believe the absolute stupidity and irresponsibility of a town that would allow such a hazard to the public.

Sure, you can turn left or right onto another street that runs along the river, but if I had never been in this town (and I hadn’t), and it was dark and I thought I was heading toward Rt. 29, I, too, with a bit of speed, even just the in-town limit of 30 MPH, would be in the river with no warning, no obstruction to stop me and no one would even know I was gone or where to look for me.

That’s what happened to Julie. No one knew where to look. In fact, according to a news story published in the Peoria Journal Star on October 8th, “it was ultimately the sonar equipment of a team of researchers studying Asian carp that located the vehicle near the Walnut Street boat ramp Monday night.” There were no skid marks on W. Walnut St. leading up to the river to give searchers a clue. Why? Because in the dark, with no warning lights, no gate, no signs, a driver who is not privy to Chillicothe’s downtown wide-open access to the Illinois River wouldn’t know to apply their brakes until their tires hit the slimy boat ramp and at that point, it’s too late.

Now Julie’s gone and I’m as dumbfounded over the fact that her life was swallowed by a river as I am over the fact that the town council of Chillicothe blew off her family at a meeting the night of her funeral when they begged for something to be done to protect other drivers from a similar fate. How outrageous! Should that even be a discussion? No, it shouldn’t. This is a no-brainer: Chillicothe, do whatever it takes right now to keep this from ever happening again.

The last time I saw Julie was when she was driving. She was in my little red Jeep pulling out of my driveway in 2008. She had saved her hard-earned money to buy her own car and I needed to sell mine. She had come over with her mom and brother to get my help on writing an essay she had to turn in so she could graduate high school and in the course of our time together I mentioned my needing to sell it. Her beautiful face lit up and this quiet, shy young lady who barely spoke the whole time she was there began rapidly discussing it with her mom.

A few days later, there she was at my door with her cash. I’m ashamed to say that I cried when she drove away, not because I would miss her, but that I would miss that Jeep. How foolish! How could I ascribe so much more value to a vehicle than I did to my relationship with that precious young girl? I’m ashamed of myself for that and regret not keeping in better touch with her after we moved.

Now I’m missing Julie and while I’ve been harsh with my words toward the town of Chillicothe, I admit that we all need to do more to place higher value on the lives around us than on our own personal comforts or preferences, whether that means constructing a gate to keep people from accidentally driving into the river or to pick up the phone and tell someone you love them.

After we moved from Peoria in 2009, Julie graduated high school, gave birth to two children, earned her CNA certificate and worked hard serving the elderly at a local nursing home. She was a beautiful, quiet young woman with a sweet smile and a contagious laugh and this world has lost the privilege of her sweet, joyful spirit.

Rest in peace my dearest Julie, I love you.