Must have been an angel

"Well, did it lose the mobile home?" The ER nurse laughs to another as she inspects my cuts and scrapes.

"Are you kidding me?" I think, "You're worried about the truck was carrying?" It was, after all, a truck that should have had the large load of a mobile home.

An 18-wheeler has just come within inches of landing on my car. By nothing short of a miracle it has only flown slightly over me and landed behind me in the HOV lane on 635. Moments earlier I was driving in that lane. It was my lane to occupy, not his.

He is driving too fast for the usual 635 morning traffic. I am 4 lanes away, on the opposite side of the highway, listening to Stephen Curtis Chapman in my CD player. "I'm diving in, I'm going deep, in over my head I want to be." My friend Allison is with me, her eyes prepared with her glasses for a day of classes at Richland College.

I am minding my own business when I see something I'll never forget. From the other side of the freeway, an 18-wheeler is flying perpendicular to traffic. He has cut across four lanes without hitting anybody. I am his next stop. He doesn't carry a load, but his truck alone can do plenty damage. Thankfully there is a large barricade blocking him from directly flying into my car. It is just enough to slow him down as he bursts the concrete wall into pieces that make their way onto my car.

I do not have time to swerve. I do not have time to think. I only see him coming and immediately I am hit with an airbag as my car slams to a stop. I can't remember what happened. Nobody else can tell me what happened. I am wearing my retainer. I don't know what has possessed me to defy my 17 year old body and put it in my mouth today. My parents must be so happy. For the retainer that is. I, on the other hand, have just had my lip torn apart by a a nasty airbag/retainer combination. I vividly remember digging through the trash in elementary school to find a retainer. Maybe I should have left it.

In the moment, my last thought is the pain in my mouth or the airbag burn on my face. There is smoke in the car. There is glass everywhere. I look in the rearview mirror where I find blood on my face. I panic, I am trapped. "I'm going to climb out the window," I think to myself.

I'm out of the car, screeching like a wet cat on the phone to my mother. She'll never forget the sound of my voice when she picks up the phone. I don't even know what I am saying. A man has come to help me wipe my face with a handkerchief. I believe he was in the lane next to me when the offending 18-wheeler made my Ford Taurus his destination. Allison gets out of the car after me. Her airbag has been torn on impact by a large piece of concrete that has hit her window. Her glasses have been torn off her face. Both windows on my side have been blown out on impact and my car is covered in something. Is it gas? We are not going to make it to school. In fact, nobody behind us will be making it to school either. We have successfully shut down the freeway for many hours to come.

On the other side of the metroplex my grandmother is sewing away. She is suddenly compelled to leave her sewing room and go to her Bible in the living room. When she gets there she has an overwhelming urge to pray for me. She is praying in the moment.

Back on the scene, a private ambulance has backed down the highway to get to us as. They were close by when Mr.Too-fast-for-traffic made his debut. Despite the fact that every one of us has walked away from the wreck, they load me up in the ambulance and drive me to the other side of the freeway where a hospital sits. I say something to the paramedic. He misunderstands me and says back to me "You're not lucky, you're blessed." He is right, though I did not tell him I thought I was lucky!

So here I lay, in the hallway of the Emergency Room, on a hard board with glass poking me in the back. I am complaining of the glass and of a feeling of suffocation. I am thoroughly inspected and nothing is wrong. I am simply in a state of panic. A pastor from my church arrives. None of us can figure how he got there so fast. Someone told him of the news, they turned around and he was gone. He has beaten my parents there. I don't realize at the time that he will counsel me for anxiety on more than one occasion after the moment. In fact, the moment, will launch me into several years of intense anxiety and panic attacks.


We leave the hospital. My biggest complaint is of the airbag tearing up my mouth with that darn retainer. "Mom, were close to The Galleria. Can we head over and get some new jeans?" My Guess jeans are now covered in oil, glass and blood. She figures I'm going to be ok!

I return home to phone calls from concerned friends and family. The one that stands out the most is from my grandfather. He has called to recount the morning and how my grandmother had been praying for me. She is unable to tell me herself because she has suffered a stroke and no longer has the use of her speech. I can't quite remember what her voice sounded like before she lost it. Her example of Godliness and prayer I will never forget.

In the heat of the moment, I had failed to tell the right people the right thing about where to take my car. This has resulted in a trip to the impound for my family. It isn't exactly the family vacation I was  hoping for. Upon arrival, only one person is able to go in. It is a blessing in disguise, this event will be etched on my calendar long enough as it is. Dad bags up all my belongings in a black trash bag and says farewell to my trusty 'ole Ford Tauras. He is thankful for the switch we had made from my Ford Escort. He is convinced I would have been killed were I driving it. It is a fond farewell for me. My next car, which we will call the knee-jerk reaction car, is going to be a very nice and overly safe Volvo.

He comes back to my mom and I to take us home. He says to me, "Tell me again, how did you get out of the car?" I tell him again how I crawled out my window. He develops the pictures and brings them to me. I am rattled and crying, glad I didn't see the car in person. "You did not crawl out the window, and your door was jammed shut. Had you crawled out the window you would have smeared the oil that is sprayed down the side of the car" he says. "Did you go out Allison's door?" And the answer is no. She was out of the car after me. Come to think of it, I have no recollection of getting out of the car. I am certain of one thing, someone pulled me out. Someone who had something to do with the prayers of my grandmother. Someone who I cannot remember seeing, but wish I could. It must have been an angel.