Saturday. Beautiful day. Sun-drenched warmth and easy-going attitudes. School starts in a couple days. Nice.
Parents are in town. Healthy and engaging. Joyful and playful. Walks and trips to Cabela's.
Visit to Grandma Elva. Everyone piling in the van. 5 dearly loved passengers in that metal box.
Chattering and laughing. Stopping for gas. Dad leaps out to pump and pay to fill the tank. Grab some breakfast. Kate gets powdered donuts. Yum.
On the road. Driving peacefully. Then...
Tunnel vision. Explosion, Confusion. Yelling.
Did I hit a sign? Dad yells. Can't see.
Realization..."He pulled out in front of me!"
Still moving. Dad yanks the wheel out of my grip. Takes us to the side of the road.
Kids crying. "Are you ok, Dad?" "It hurts." "Are you ok, Mom?" "I think so." Dad says, "I think it's better."
Kate yelling to the kids..."We're all okay! We're all okay!" Elijah crying loudly looking like he's foaming at the mouth because of the powdered donut he was eating.
Doors open. Call 911. Already been reported. Hearing sirens.
Friendly passerby helping. Gives me his name and number.
EMTs arrived. Orderly confusion as we determine to send both parents and kids to the hospital.
Other car is on its side...everyone's ok.
Hospital admittance. Elijah keep pointing to the scab on his ankle that he's been picking for weeks in answer to the question, "Where does it hurt?"
Kids are fine. Parents are fine, if a little banged up.
In-laws arrive. Takes us home.
Processing. What happened? How did I not see him? No one saw him. Missing details recalled.
Emotionally shaken. Hair breadths difference between peace and tragedy.
God is kind.
