A woman drove the wrong way on a highway for more than two miles before crashing head-on with Austin Lavicka Luehring's vehicle, killing him at the age of 27.
Austin Lavicka Luehring.
"I thought, why isn't there a warning system?" said his mother, Christina LaVicka of Appleton, Wis. "My Austin had no warning that he was heading in the direction of a missile heading right in his direction."
Rosalie Polsin, 79, of Hortonville, drove onto Interstate 41 going the wrong way about 10:15 p.m. Nov. 5, 2024, before the crash. She pleaded guilty to homicide by the negligent use of a vehicle and was sentenced to two years in prison, followed by five years on extended supervision.
Several other drivers called 911 and reported Polsin's wrong-way trajectory, according to a criminal complaint. Outagamie County 911 dispatch and police gathered updates and were trying to intercept Polsin's vehicle, but those 911 calls weren't known to other drivers.
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A portrait of Christina LaVicka and her son Austin LaVicka Luehring, when he was about 3 years old, sits next to a BMW emblem from his car that he was killed in.
LaVicka came up with an idea for an alert system that would use existing technology to alert others to danger on the roads. She envisions a platform called 497 Austin Alert to honor her son with his name, birth month and year: April 1997.
Think of a combination of the technology an iPhone uses for Siri and road alerts on Apple Maps. The technology would activate when it hears the term "Austin Alert," confirm that the user wants to send the alert, specify the type of danger and the location, and send a warning to all drivers in a 2-mile radius, as well as the nearest 911 center.
"In a matter of seconds, all drivers can be notified if their route is affected by the imminent danger and can proceed accordingly," LaVicka said.
She wants the system to be initiated with words so drivers can focus on driving. If you are concerned about your phone listening to you, she said, there would be an option to turn it off or it could be an independent app you would have to choose to download.
"This is a concept," LaVicka said, and she is still in the early stages of building it. She is looking for people to connect with who can help her put it into action. More information can be found at 497austinalert.com.
"No one should ever have to have live knowing that their loved one was killed with no opportunity for defense," LaVicka said.
Christina LaVicka plays a song, which she wrote in 2018 for parents who don't know where their children, on May 1 at her home in Appleton, Wis.
'The highest level of grief'
In 2018, LaVicka wrote a song called "One More Day Without You." It was dedicated to parents who didn't know where their children were, whether their child died, went missing or were away for things like military deployment.
When she wrote it, she recalled, she stared at a photo of Austin as a toddler running on a beach.
"I never thought the song would apply to me," LaVicka said in tears as she played a recording of the song and stared at that same photo of Austin, now surrounded by other photos and items to remember him.
Since Austin's death, LaVicka said she is "living half a life." Children aren't supposed to die before their parents, she said.
"It's such a lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely place to be," she said. "It's the highest level of grief."
Austin Lavicka Luehring plays the first guitar his mother, Christina LaVicka, bought him and taught him lessons on.
'The gift of comfort'
Vintage plates that Austin LaVicka Luehring purchased for his mother for a past Mother's Day, knowing how much she cherished her original set that was destroyed.
LaVicka taught her son many things. She taught him to play the guitar, to drive stick shift, to sing and harmonize, to act, the importance of volunteering, to be curious and adventurous.
"Everything I learned how to do," LaVicka said, "he wanted to learn how to do and even better."
The two found joy and purpose in the same things. They spent years watching shows and writing reviews at the Fox Cities Performing Arts Center. They acted and modeled together, from an ultrasound modeling gig when LaVicka was pregnant with Austin to a commercial with Brett Favre in Austin's youth to a Cellcom commercial they filmed just months before his death.
LaVicka also instilled in her son the values of kindness and compassion. "The world is our family," they always said. They volunteered planting flowers for the Marigold Mile, supporting EAA and serving meals on holidays.
A lamp Austin LaVicka Luehring made for his mother, Christina LaVicka, when he was in middle school because he remembered that his late grandfather wanted to make it for her but didn't get a chance before he passed away.
When they served the meals, LaVicka recalled the way a young Austin would "just watch" his mom as she asked each person their name, where they were from and details about their lives. He soon replicated the same care and love to strangers everywhere they went.
"He had the gift of comfort," she said.
If Austin had seen Polsin's car coming, he would have done something to try to help — "that's the kind of person he was," LaVicka said.
Their relationship wasn't always perfect.
A photograph of Christina LaVicka and her son Austin LaVicka Luehring is seen May 1 in her living room in Appleton, Wis.
LaVicka banged on the wall when Austin took too long in the shower, there was a serious conversation when he tried to start LaVicka's manual car from the passenger seat and ran into the house, and there was a rough patch before his 21st birthday that strained their relationship for a few months.
At the end of the day, any argument "made us stronger," LaVicka said. In all of the handmade cards Austin gave her for birthdays, Mother's Days and Christmases, he thanked her for being the best mom and reminded her that she was his best friend.
"He truly was the best son that God could have given me," LaVicka said.
