ST.HILO, Hawaiʻi — The Christmas Eve That Turned Tragic: The Loss of Dr. Judy Fitzgerald

Christmas Eve is supposed to arrive gently, carrying with it light, forgiveness, and the promise of togetherness.

It is meant to be a pause in the year, a night when families breathe a little easier, when the edges of the world soften, and hearts feel lighter than the days before.

But on December 24, along the dark stretch of Daniel K. Inouye Highway, that promise shattered in an instant, a moment so sudden it left shock in its wake and grief before understanding could settle in.

Just after 7:28 p.m., a Toyota Tacoma traveling Hilo-bound crossed over the center line, a simple miscalculation with consequences far beyond anyone’s imagining.

The truck collided head-on with a Mazda, a violent encounter between two vehicles moving in opposite directions under a night sky that offered no warning, that provided no time to react, that became the backdrop for tragedy.

In that single heartbeat, lives diverged forever.

First responders arrived at a scene already heavy with finality.

The driver of the Mazda, unresponsive, bore injuries so grave that silence replaced urgency, that stillness replaced the frantic hope that usually defines emergency responses.

She was rushed to Hilo Benioff Medical Center, a place where she had spent years saving others, a place where she had given herself tirelessly to the care of her community.

At 7:59 p.m., she was pronounced dead.

The woman whose hands had steadied countless emergencies, whose voice had guided terrified patients and families alike, did not survive the one crisis she could never anticipate.

Her name was Judy Fitzgerald.

The loss landed across Hilo like a wave, slow at first, almost imperceptible, then pressing heavy into the community as realization took hold.

Dr. Fitzgerald was not just a doctor; she was a leader, a friend, a colleague whose presence had become integral to the rhythm of life in the Emergency Department.

Later, Hilo Benioff Medical Center confirmed what many feared.

In a social media post, the hospital shared its grief, a collective heartbreak made public, an announcement that carried weight beyond words.

“It is with profound sadness that we share the passing of Dr. Judy Fitzgerald,” the statement read.

“She was involved in a tragic motor vehicle accident last night that was not survivable.”

Words chosen carefully, yet powerless to soften the truth they carried.

Dr. Kathleen Katt, Chief Medical Officer and longtime colleague, spoke not only as a leader but as a friend, her voice heavy with sorrow.

“She is an Emergency physician colleague of mine and most importantly a dear, irreplaceable friend,” Dr. Katt said, where professional loss collided with personal grief in a single sentence.

Dr. Fitzgerald was woven into the Emergency Department itself, a constant presence in moments when lives hung by threads, when seconds determined outcomes, when calm and confidence were needed most.

She knew the rhythm of crisis, the language of urgency, the quiet steadiness required when everything else threatened to unravel.

For years, she had served as both physician and leader, shaping the culture and outcomes of her teams, mentoring colleagues, and instilling confidence that carried far beyond the hospital walls, into the broader region through Advanced Cardiac Life Support training and countless hours of teaching.

ACLS work is technical, repetitive, demanding, and essential when hearts falter.

Dr. Fitzgerald approached it with diligence, ensuring that others were ready, that lives would be saved, that crises would be navigated with precision and care.

Colleagues describe her as steady, reliable, and unassuming in the ways that matter most when lives are in the balance.

The absence left by her death cannot be filled by staffing adjustments or schedules.

Hospitals lose not only employees in these moments—they lose institutional memory, mentorship, and the trust built over years of dedication.

HBMC CEO Dan Brinkman spoke plainly: “One of our HBMC family has passed. She will be missed.”

That simplicity carried weight, reflecting a truth that no polished statement could fully capture.

Some grief is immediate, raw, and too profound for elaborate language.

The shock extended beyond the hospital walls.

Hawaiʻi County Mayor Kimo Alameda acknowledged the emotional toll on the island.

“It’s hard to put into words. It’s all emotions right now,” he said.

The island was still recovering from the loss of Fire Chief Todd, another leader gone too soon.

And now, another pillar had fallen.

“This doctor was very special to us,” Mayor Alameda said.

“She was a first responder in her own way and a leader in the health field on our island.”

Emergency physicians are first responders, even without sirens, even without lights flashing.

They confront trauma so that others can survive.

Dr. Fitzgerald spent her career on the far side of accidents like the one that claimed her life, treating victims of impaired driving, reckless speeds, and sudden emergencies.

The irony is difficult to accept: someone so devoted to preserving life was taken by an act she had likely warned others about countless times.

According to police, the driver of the Toyota Tacoma was a 34-year-old woman who sustained minor injuries and was treated at the same hospital where Dr. Fitzgerald worked and ultimately died.

After release, the driver was arrested, facing charges including first-degree negligent homicide, operating a vehicle under the influence of an intoxicant, and reckless driving, a reflection of the devastating consequences of choices ignored until it is too late.

Court documents reveal a troubling pattern, prior speeding citations including one instance of 95 miles per hour in a 55-mile-per-hour zone, illustrating the warnings missed and risks underestimated.

Patterns like these are often invisible until tragedy forces them into view; speeding tickets and violations become footnotes, minor inconveniences until someone irreplaceable is lost.

The investigation continues, piecing together timelines, decisions, and circumstances.

But no investigation can answer the deeper questions haunting every colleague, friend, and family member: Why must loss occur for recklessness to be taken seriously?

Why are warnings so often ignored until the cost is permanent?

For Dr. Fitzgerald’s family, such questions offer little solace.

Their grief is personal, intimate, and enduring.

They lost a daughter, a sister, a loved one, whose identity cannot be fully captured in professional accolades or public recognition.

To colleagues, the Emergency Department will never be the same.

The empty space where her voice once guided teams will echo through shifts, through critical moments, through the quiet stillness that often follows chaos.

Patients, many who never knew her name, still benefited from her skill, calm, and guidance; countless lives bear the imprint of her presence.

Christmas Eve, once a night of celebration, will now forever carry the weight of grief, a dual reminder that joy and loss often share the same calendar.

Communities struggle to mourn professionals whose work is both public and intimate, whose presence is often behind the scenes yet profoundly felt.

Emergency doctors witness our worst moments, our vulnerabilities, our fear, and our desperation, and Dr. Fitzgerald did so without expectation of recognition, showing up for nights, holidays, and crises others hoped never to confront.

Now, the community carries her memory—in hospital halls, training rooms, and conversations that begin with “Do you remember when Judy…”

There will be court proceedings, legal arguments, and sentencing discussions, but justice cannot restore what was lost.

It cannot bring back a physician who steadied countless emergencies, cannot undo the grief woven into family and colleague lives, cannot fill the empty space left behind.

What remains is remembrance, the commitment to speak her name with respect, to let her story resonate beyond headlines, and to honor the life defined by service and dedication.

Perhaps it also calls for reflection on responsibility, on the choices that seem small until they are fatal, on the importance of driving safely, heeding warnings, and protecting life whenever possible.

Somewhere tonight, another emergency physician stands in a trauma bay, another doctor fights for a life injured on a roadway, and the cycle continues.

But one chair will remain empty at Hilo Benioff Medical Center.

One voice will be missing.

One community will remember the doctor who never made it home on Christmas Eve.

May her memory be a blessing, may her family find strength in the love that surrounds them, and may this loss inspire caution, care, and remembrance for years to come.

A Birthday Card, a Love Story, and the Kindness of Strangers

At first glance, it seemed like just another ordinary afternoon inside a Dollar Tree. Shoppers browsed for party supplies, wrapping paper, and everyday essentials. But for one elderly man, this trip was anything but ordinary. It was a mission of love — and it quickly became a moment that touched every soul within earshot.

Louisa McKinney was in the store that day, picking up wrapping paper for some birthday gifts. That’s when she noticed an older gentleman approach a young woman and ask for help. His request seemed simple enough: he needed assistance picking out a birthday card..

The woman smiled and walked with him to the card aisle, where she began bending and reaching for different options, holding them out for him to see. As she searched, she asked who the card was for, hoping to better guide her choices.

The man’s answer stopped her in her tracks.
“It’s for me,” he said softly. “If I wake up tomorrow, I’ll be 85. My wife wanted to get me something, but she’s very sick and cannot leave the house, and I want her to know I got a birthday card from her.”

What might have seemed like a simple errand was, in truth, an act of devotion. This man wasn’t buying himself a card to celebrate his age. He was buying it for his wife — so that she wouldn’t feel the weight of her illness or the guilt of not being able to mark the day. In his eyes, she was still the girl he had fallen in love with, and this small gesture was his way of protecting her heart.

As Louisa and others nearby listened, the man began sharing more of his story with the young woman who was helping him. They had met as children, married as teenagers, and then been separated by war. His wife had spent those years in constant worry, praying for his safe return. When he did come home, they built a life together — raising children, facing hardships, and holding on to each other through every season. Their love had weathered decades, and it was still as strong as ever.

The young woman who helped him wasn’t just kind; she was compassionate. She took the time to listen, to choose a card with care, and to treat his request with the dignity it deserved. In doing so, she honored not only the man but also the love story he carried in his heart.

And then, as if the moment weren’t powerful enough already, Louisa overheard one last act of kindness. The woman, who happened to own a local restaurant, promised the elderly man that when his wife was well enough to leave the house, they would both have dinner on her.

It was a simple promise, but one that held enormous weight — an invitation not just for a meal, but for a memory, a night of normalcy, a reminder that love deserves to be celebrated in every season of life.

What Louisa witnessed that day was more than shopping. It was humanity at its best: an elderly man putting his wife’s happiness above his own, a stranger offering her time and generosity, and a reminder that kindness doesn’t need an audience or applause.

In a world where headlines often focus on conflict, these quiet moments remind us of what truly matters. Love that lasts a lifetime. Strangers who step in with compassion. And the way small acts — like reaching for a card on the shelf — can ripple outward, touching everyone who witnesses them.

Tomorrow, that man will turn 85. His wife, though ill, will hand him a card she “gave” him, a card he picked out himself to ease her heart. She will smile, and he will know the effort was worth it.

And thanks to the kindness of one woman in a Dollar Tree aisle, and another woman named Louisa who carried the story forward, the world is reminded once more: love is timeless, and kindness multiplies when we choose to notice.