Around 6 p.m., I decided to take a ride with a friend. When we got back around 7:30 p.m., there were fire trucks, policemen, and people standing on our block.
I walked over to a neighbor and asked what had happened.
“Your daughter,” she said, “your daughter just got hit by a car!”
The words hung in the air for a moment … floating … your daughter was hit by a car … and like a ton of bricks, they came crashing down on me!
“WHAT?”
Before she could say anything, I had run into my house to tell everyone what had happened. When I got inside, it was dark … and cold. The blinds were drawn. I couldn’t get my thoughts together.
“Husband,” I yelled through the darkness. My head began to spin … I heard the words over and over again … your daughter … hit by a car …
I gotta do something.
“Ma’am, your daughter has been life flown to the medical center,” he said.
Surely there must be some mistake. MY daughter?
My thoughts were interrupted when my friend offered to take me to my child.
“Oh God,” I prayed, “please let her be alive.”
The ride to the hospital took an eternity! Ten miles had seemed like a hundred! No one had their cell phones on. Why can’t I reach anyone? What’s going on?
When we arrived at the hospital, my husband came to me immediately.
“It’s pretty bad, Baby,” he said. “She was bleeding from her head and ears … I couldn’t stop the bleeding …”
I can’t even tell you my reaction at that point … my whole body went numb. I remember screaming and completely panicking. I remember running down the hall to the room where she was and holding her, rocking her … but truth is, I did none of those things. I sat down and waited. A lifetime had passed, and still I waited, praying. I remember being surrounded by family and friends. My husband appeared to be so in control of everything. He was my rock. I don’t know how long it was before the doctors came and spoke with us … when they did, I braced myself for the worst news possible …
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