Praising God

Every parent with a child of driving age has this nightmare. The phone rings at 1 AM. Your heart is pounding. 1 Am phone calls are never good.
"Mom, I've been in an accident. I'm okay. Everyone in my car is okay."

"Where are you?"

"Just drive south on 43rd Avenue. There are a million flashing lights"

Mark and I hurriedly dressed, woke up SB just to let her know we were leaving, and fled the house. I was crying already. I had heard his voice at least, but what had happened, and was he really okay? I knew he hadn't been driving, but out with friends.

The scene that greeted us, in an ironic location: right next to Mark's parent's church and the grade school Mark attended, was chaotic and terrifying. The street was closed, for almost a full mile. We drove up to the police tape and told the officer that our son was in that accident. He directed us to park at the convenience store and walk in. There were close to a hundred people standing around farther down the sides of the accident. We walked a half-mile outside the tape lines. There were many police cars, fire trucks, ambulances. But we had missed the worst of it. We called Bubba since we couldn't see him. We were looking at the only car we could see so far. A tiny little red hatchback. The front passenger side window was smashed. The top of the car was caved in badly. There was debris all over the ground. We still have not seen Bubba, but he is on the phone with Mark. we tell him we can see the red car and where is he in relation to that? He says "That's the car I was in." My knees give out as I see the damage. We see another officer, who asks us which car our son was in. When we tell him, he replies that "Those boys were the luckiest of the bunch, but it's really a miracle they are walking away." When we see the other cars, we see why. A full sized pick up truck, down to about a third of its original size, completely upside down, and a smaller sedan, with the engine in the front seats. No one in either of those cars has walked away. They have all been extricated and rushed to hospitals. A woman standing on the street tells me she lives about a half mile away, but heard the crash and rushed up to see if anyone needed help.

The piecing together of the accident is something like this. The sedan is traveling north bound at what is now estimated to be 100 miles an hour. The truck is waiting at a stop sign to turn onto 43rd Ave. The boys are traveling down 43rd Ave in the opposite direction of the sedan, at 40 miles an hour. The truck pulls out in front of the sedan, the sedan jackknives the truck, the truck rolls and slides, hitting and rolling over the top of the car Bubba was in. It is a MIRACLE that all three boys were not killed. Or even injured beyond glass dust in their eyes and some minor aches and pains. Several police officers reiterate how lucky these boys are. Thank God.

I held that boy for a mighty long time at the accident scene. I had to keep touching him because the fact of him standing next to me, whole and unbroken did not reconcile with the pile of rubble I see in the street. I stroke his cheek, just a tangible reminder that he is okay, he is there beside me. I can't stop looking at him or touching him.

It was very early morning by the time we made it home. When i closed my eyes, all I saw was flashing lights, on and on. I slept the sleep of the dead, thankfully, with no dreams. When i woke this morning, the full enormity of the tragedy that might have been clamped down on my heart. Bubba was guarded by angels last night. of that I have no doubt.