He Doesn't Talk Back With Words

He doesn't talk back with words.
He doesn't have to. Sometimes you just know. Sometimes it is obvious. Like a burning bush. Or, walking away unscathed. I've been sitting on this story for a little while now. Partly because we have been dealing with this. Partly because I wanted to establish a "poster's presence" on the blog without a bias of shock or sympathy by posting this story first. Partly to put this behind us far enough to want to even share the story very far. But I've seen my queue. He can tell us things without talking.

Why were my wife and son driving in this small car? Because the milk my son had unknowingly spilt in the "safe" car had soaked into the seat and began to smell like the stench of a dead rodent. They were only going to be out a short time, so they took the Neon. She had worked a 1/2 day at the adoption agency and he had been at grandma's house. They were on their way home. A short 13 minute ride.

It was Jan 31st, one week after Wade's 3rd birthday and Michelle's first ultra-sound on the new baby, at approx 4pm when I received the proverbial dreaded call. The phone rang repeatedly, incessantly. Someone was desparate to reach me. I answered. It was my wife's voice, strained with emotion, "We've been in a bad car accident. Come as fast as you can. It's on Hwy 79. Hurry." The line went dead. Throwing down the phone, I flew from my desk chair, grabbed my coat and ran to the car. Trying to drive as fast as possible yet maintain calm and control, I hurried down the highway when suddenly the thought hit me "Did she just call me or did she call 911?". It was at that exact moment when I reached an intersection and saw the ambulance go flying by, lights and sirens ablaze. Knowing already that it was heading to the scene of my wife's accident, I tried to follow and keep up, but the ambulance soon distanced me leaving me to maneuver through the heavy afternoon traffic. Taking the shoulder on the right at about 40mph, I honked and flashed lights at cars who were trying to sneak a peek around the stalled line in front of them. Finally, when I was close enough to see the lights of the stopped rescue vehicles ahead, I made a dash across the line and took the opposite highway lane the rest of the way to the scene.

Like a 30 second MPEG video, I still recall with vivid clarity my first view of the scene. Me running the final steps toward the ambulance, my mother-in-law standing at the back of the open door. My wife sitting inside on a cushioned bench and holding my son while a squatting paramedic was feeling Wade's legs evaulating him for injuries. No blood, no visible broken bones, no external gore that I fully expected to to see. Rescue personnel were buzzing about everywhere. The ambulance interior seemed tiny and the doorway congested with various, fire, police, and rescue personnel popping their heads in and out. Seeing my family was secure for the moment, I quickly moved to look around at the chaos. A large number of on-lookers had gathered in the flat bottom field on the east side of the highway. Morbid curiosity had drawn the trailer dwellers out of their holes. Drivers of vehicles who narrowly missed being involved in the accident huddled and hurriedly recanted what just transpired before their disbelieving eyes. The scene was charged with the the kind of energy we humans exhalt in the aftermath of a catastriphic event like a devastating storm.

As I looked about, I began to spot the wrecked vehicles. A southbound red 95 Monte Carlo with a smashed rear end, some demolished car about 40 yards into the field-trailer dwellers nearby, a silver 2002 Hyundai Sante Fe with a crushed front end resembled a half smashed aluminum can. Not until after a double take of the scene did I realize the scrap of metal remains in the field was what was left of what was once "The Neon". That was our car? My sickened stomach sank into a bottomless pit which was quite a steep fall from being stuck in my throat. Already pale from shock, my face turned ash white.

TO BE CONTINUED........