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On June 10, 1999 around 9:00
in the morning my world as I knew it was about to come to a "crashing" halt. It
was a nightmare come true. And yet, in the terror of all of it I was touched by something
so wonderful I have yet to come to terms with it. The following is an account of what
happened that morning and the days that followed. The motion has stopped. And there is silence. The presence is gone. I miss it. I cannot move and I am
breathing slowly. Waves of nausea flood thru me. I hear Taylor crying in the back. We are
alive. We made it. I can't figure out what is going on outside the car. Then, I realize it
is people. They are around the car. They are knocking on my window. For some strange
reason it sounds like they are speaking gibberish. Darkness is surrounding me and I want
so badly to go with it. But, I can't. Taylor. I must get help for Taylor. I am moving now
but, it hurts so bad. I whisper to Taylor that it is okay. I whisper to him that I love
him. I finally roll the window down. The car is smoking and the smell of gas is very, very
strong. Someone sprays something. (I later found out it was a fire extinguisher.) The
people are torn between moving us and not moving us. The smell of gas grows stronger and
the car is still smoking. I am asking them to help Taylor. Is he all right? I can still
hear him crying out in the back. The people decide to get us out. ( I later found out they
were afraid the car would catch fire and they may not be able to get us out since I was
pinched in a bit.) I know I spoke to them but can't recall the conversations. They help me
out and help me to sit down. A woman cradles me in her arms. They get Taylor out. A woman
has him in her arms and he becomes very quiet. At one point he is laying on the grass. I
want so bad to hold him but, I'm still having a problem trying to get myself together.
Come on Cindy, pull it together. I ask if the truck driver is all right and someone says
yes. I am also told no one else was involved, just the truck and my car. I need
Geff. I
keep repeating a number over and over. Someone asks what it is. I say it is Geff's pager.
Why on earth I remember his pager number is beyond me. I never could remember it before.
Then, I hear someone tell me they have paged Geff and told him we have been in an
accident. She will page him again and let him know what hospital we are going to.( I later
found out when this person paged Geff she did not tell him how bad the accident was. She
did not want to frighten him.) Sirens fill the air. I can turn slightly. I can see the
car. It doesn't look like there is much left of the front. I can see Taylor. He lies
quietly. They tell me he is okay. Everything is crazy. Just crazy. A man starts talking to
me. I think he is a paramedic. Someone asks if I want to go to the hospital. I answer yes.
I remember someone asks if a helicopter is needed for the boy. I ask again about Taylor. I
am told they are working on him now. I recall a conversation between two people in what
appear to be uniforms, "You mean the people in the car are alive? I was expecting
fatalities." Then, the next thing I know I am in an ambulance. The man says Taylor is
right behind us in another ambulance. We are both on our way to the hospital. ( I later
found out that the police department called in the highway patrol department. The homicide
division. I guess the accident site looked pretty bad.) Like I said, some things I cannot explain. The next day I meet the lady who I am sharing a room with. She
too has been in an accident. She was in a car with her finance' and small baby. Her
finance' and baby make it out without injuries. She has extensive injuries. She will be
fine but, it is going to take a lot time and rehabilitation. What injuries I have are a
cakewalk compared to her. I have seat belt related injuries. They are going to do a few
more x-rays then let me out. I am already bruising from where the seat belt was and feel
like I've been shaken up inside a little. I still can't figure out how I was told but,
Taylor needs an operation. He is bleeding internally. I guess we're not out of the woods
yet. I talk some more to God. By now I have my own 800 line. Geff comes and takes me to
Taylor's hospital. Today is also Taylor's 7th birthday. Some birthday huh? I want to take a minute and tell you about the critical care floor and the other floor we were on. The critical care floor is always busy. You get desensitized to alarms going off. Every now and then we hear a little boy screaming. One little boy just wants to walk around the floor. He so darn small and so very cute. Some of these kids have been in accidents, others are very sick. We thought we would be here until Taylor is released but, they move us to another floor. The floor we're on is also shared with Oncology and Hematology. Little bald kids with IVs running around. Little kids so very thin. Little babies in "caged" cribs. Some kids sleep all the time. Some are here for treatment. Some have been here along time. You walk down the hall and hear crying, laughing, someone singing a lullaby, some child is fed up with the whole mess and letting the whole darn world know. And you see some pretty tired and worn out adults too. These kids on both floors are something else. They put up with stuff that would have most grown-ups begging for mercy. And some butt kicking drugs that would have most grown-ups doubled over. I saw one little boy who did not move all day but, every time I went by his room he would raise his hand and smile. And you know, I think that's all I have to say about this. Taylor's recovery. We have two choices: We can let him lay in bed
and "baby" him. If we do this his recovery will be slow and the chance of having
a setback is higher or we can make him move and not "baby" him. If we do this
his recovery will be faster and his intestines will start working again. And he can have
the dreaded nose tube removed. If you have never had a nose tube consider yourself lucky.
They are a pain. A royal pain. I feel like a real wench. He insists on doing everything on
his own. It is hard watching him struggle. And he cries and says things like "please
don't make me it hurts too much." One day he asked for a wheelchair. I told him
"no way buddy, get moving." I go in the bathroom and pinch myself because I feel
so mean. He gets an injection of morphine and I watch him go to some distant place from
the pain. The worst day of all was when I had to hold him down so the nurse could take out
the nose tube. He started crying and begging us not to do it....... And you know, I think
that's all I have to say about this too. And to remember that even in the worst of times "It's okay." About the voice and the presence: I know some people have been in worst accidents and were badly
injured and never heard a voice or felt a presence. Written by ItsMeCG@aol.com
UPDATE 2000 3/2/00 Preface: One day last week I was listening to a song, and I could hear the second part of "It's Okay" speaking softly through it. This is the song and the rest of my story. Wind Beneath My Wings (The Story) Dedication: Nights were always hard after a surgery. During the night I seemed to feel the pain more. When I fell asleep the pain pills would sometimes cause nightmares. I always felt alone. I was never really alone. Each night I slept on the couch I had a constant companion. As I write this she is just a few feet from me stretched out on the waterbed. My companion, who stayed with me on these nights, is fifteen years old, weighs about seven pounds, black with gold eyes and her name is Sniffles. If you saw her you might think she is just a "cat". There was once a time when I would have agreed with you, but she has proven to be much more than that. Late at night when it seemed the whole world was asleep she would stay with me. She could be found on one of the many pillows that was elevating the most recently operated on limb. Some nights she had a little makeshift bed which consisted of a small table and a beach towel. She kept a constant vigil. When I was feeling lonely all I had to do was reach out and touch her. She would place her paw upon my hand or arm, and sometimes she would press her head against my hand or arm. On some nights I would awaken from either the pain or a nightmare. When this happened I would find her already awake, sitting up and watching me. She would rub her face on mine and settle in very close to me. Once again her paw would touch me, or her head would press against me. I have learned that pets can offer us a great deal of comfort. They are gifts from God and we should not overlook them. It must've been cold there in my shadow, I mentioned earlier that the pain pills would sometimes cause nightmares. The nightmares were horrifying. I remember waking up some nights with a jolt or to find that I was crying. One night I fell asleep, and I had one nightmare after another. There was a break in between each nightmare. I thought I was awake after the first nightmare, and I saw a silhouette of a man sitting beside me. It startled me to find him there. I realized I was not awake as I was pulled into another nightmare. It kept repeating itself over and over. I would have a nightmare, the nightmare would end, and he would be sitting beside me. I felt safe when I was with him. I finally woke up, and I looked over to my left. I reached out my hand and said one word, "Daddy." He was no longer sitting beside me. I knew he had been there, and he will always be close to me. I have learned that the people we love, who have gone on to the light, are not far away from us. They are always with us, and they are always watching over us. Just like my dad was doing on this night. You always walked a step behind. These are some of the comments I would hear from people: "You sure are having a rough time", or "I just don't see how you're handling all of this", or "You are a strong person". I had help. I had a lot of help. The people, who help us when we aren't able to care for ourselves, are called "caregivers". These people are usually our friends or members of our family. They take time off from work to stay with us after a surgery. They take time off from work to take us to doctor appointments. They stand closely behind us as we walk up three flights of stairs. They go to the store to pick up medication. They make sure we take the medication. They will get up every four hours during the night to give us our medication. They go to the grocery store for food. They make our meals and cut up our food for us. They wash our clothes and clean our homes. They make-up ice packs and bring us drinks. They offer to help us bathe and to dress. They wipe our faces after we have become sick, and cleanup the mess we have made in the process. They have to listen to our complaining. They see us when we are at our worse. They take the chaos that our lives have become and make it easier to deal with. They do everything without being paid, and sometimes without any thanks. My "caregiver" was my husband Geff. He did all of this and more. He received very little help with his route at work. Any days he took off meant adding extra stops to the days he was working. The day before my last surgery Taylor came down with the chicken pox, and Geff stayed home for three days. Once when he was helping me to dress I asked him, "Geff, why are you doing all of this?" He replied, "You'd do the same for me wouldn't you?" I have learned that caregivers are the unsung heroes. So I was the one with all the glory, After the accident people gave us help. They came from businesses around the accident site or got out of their cars. I will always be grateful for the help they gave Taylor and I. A week after the accident I found some of them. I was able to talk with them and thank them. Much to my regret there is one lady I have never been able to locate. I will always remember her. Her main concern was for Taylor. I remember she held him in her arms and spoke softly to him. After a few minutes she laid him down on the grass. She stayed with him and continued to speak softly to him. She gently touched him as he lay on the grass. It haunts me that I have never been able to tell her how much the care she gave to Taylor means to me. I have learned that a single act of compassion can stay with you forever. There are earth angels. A beautiful face without a name ... for so long. In the past nine months I had the opportunity to meet many people. I met people in a lot of pain. I met people who were struggling to put their lives back into some kind of order. People with crutches, casts, wheelchairs and missing limbs. People fighting their HMO or insurance carrier to either start or continue treatment. People whose insurance was just about maxed out. They didn't know where the money was going to come from for continuing treatment. Some of these people shared their stories with me about how they were injured. These are just a small sample of the many stories I heard: A city worker, who was working by the side of a road, was hit by a car. The woman, who hit him, left the scene of the accident because she did not want to be late for work. A young girl, who had no memory of her accident, was in her car driving to work. A man driving another car slammed into her car. He was driving over 50 mph. He had been drinking. He was not charged with a DUI because he didn't score high enough on a breath test. He was just under the legal limit, and he was charged with a lesser offense. A woman, who was at work, had a filing cabinet fall on her. A woman whose foot had been run over by a forklift. A woman, who was with her husband in their car, was in an accident that involved a guy driving his car 65 mph. The guy, who crashed into their car, was running from the police. So many people, so many stories and so much pain. Most of the people I met left me speechless because in the midst of all their pain they could still laugh. They showed such courage and unselfish concern for others besides themselves. A person with a cast on an arm helping another person, who was using crutches, up out of a chair. A person on crutches holding the door open for another person in a wheelchair. Words of encouragement spoken through lips tight with pain. Smiles from tired faces that had had no sleep the night before because of the steady, unrelenting pain. Pain is an equalizer; it doesn't care about race, religion, sex or age. I have learned that pain can break a body, but it can't break the spirit. The spirit can never be broken. I have also learned a sad truth. The spirit can never be broken, but given enough pain the spirit will become tired. A beautiful smile to hide the pain. The people, who work in the medical profession, have demanding jobs. The paramedics never know what they will find when they arrive at an accident site. They may find people not injured or slightly injured. They may find people with battered and broken bodies. They may find people whose bodies no longer have life. Their care at an accident site is a crucial part of the care that an injured person receives. The people, who make-up the trauma team at the hospital, are incredible. They flourish under stressful circumstances, and their efficiency is amazing. The doctors and medical personnel at the hospital or at the doctor's office help us heal. The physical therapists help to make us strong again. All of these people take the pieces of our shattered lives and help to make us whole again. In the process of doing this they receive either thanks or a lot of flak from people. I will be the first one to admit that I did come across a few medical personnel who seemed indifferent; However, I also saw the way some patients treated the medical personnel, and the patients were rude. I hope to someday work in the medical profession. I would like to be a registered nurse. I want to work in critical care. I have learned it will not be an easy job. I have also learned that when I hear a siren that it is not the sound of someone in trouble. It is the sound of someone getting help. Did you ever know that you're my hero? After a surgery I used to have little "pity parties" for myself. Usually during these little parties I would think of my son Taylor. He was in a lot of pain after his operation. Late one night he noticed the stuff in his nose tube. The tube that was draining his stomach. "Mommy is that coming out of me?" he asked. "Yes." I answered. "Is it the pain?" he asked. I didn't want him to see my face so I turned away. "Yeah," I answered, "it's the pain." I heard a small voice say softly, "That's a lot of pain." It's hard to watch a child suffer. It will make you angry, and it will break your heart. Taylor sometimes noticed that I was hurting and would ask, "Mommy are you okay?" Here this child lay with an IV, tubes coming out of him, and his abdomen healing from where he had been sliced open. He wanted to know if I was okay. I would remember these things during my little "pity party". What Taylor went through, made what I was going through, pale in comparison. Someday when I finally grow up, I want to be like Taylor. I learned that children may be little in size, but they have this awesome strength inside. They have the strongest spirits of all living things. I can fly higher than an eagle, When I wrote "It's Okay" back in June I tried to explain about the "presence" I felt in the car with us. I had a hard time writing about it because I was still trying to come to terms with what had happened. I think I can do a much better job of explaining what happened that day in the car. I could not believe it when I saw the semi-truck coming right at us. The first thought that came into my mind was, "This is it." I had had an uneasy feeling that morning. I think that is why I thought this. Time seemed to slow down. I whispered, "Oh my God, my God, my God...." I looked up into the driver's eyes. Right before the impact I felt a
"presence" enter the inside of the car. I thought, "What is this, what is
this?" as it filled the inside of the car. It was a thickness that filled every nook and cranny inside the car. I felt love and peace flowing from this "presence". I felt at peace. I was surrounded by love. Time seemed to slow down again. I still felt at peace. I had a lot of thoughts that flew through my mind. I knew we were going to be okay, but I wasn't sure what okay meant. I didn't know if we would be severely injured or if we were going to go on to the light. One clear thought was, "If Taylor makes it through this please let him be all right. Please don't let him be hurt badly. Please, please, please ... " I wanted him to grow up and have a full life. I thought about everyone who I love that has gone on to the light. I thought about Geff. I felt a deep sadness come over me and I thought, "I'll never get to, I'll never get to...." The "presence" intensified and went completely through me. I felt swept up by this "presence". The sadness vanished and I once again felt at peace. It no longer mattered what I would never get to do here. I accepted what was happening and could happen to us. I felt so much from this "presence". It was the essence from which absolute forgiveness, perfect peace, complete joy and unconditional love comes from. No one has ever loved any of us as this "presence" has. No one will ever love any of us as this "presence" does. It has and always will be a part of all of us. We have always been and will always be apart of it. This "presence" has and will always be here for everybody. It never turns away from anybody. Everyone I love, who has gone on to light, was with me in the car. I could feel them just a step away. I wanted to go that one step. The next thing I knew I was looking around at the inside of the car. I thought that the "presence" was gone. The car was no longer moving and there was silence. I felt disappointment that I was still here. Then I heard Taylor crying in the back seat. I wondered how bad Taylor was hurt, why I couldn't catch my breath, why I felt so nauseated and et cetera. From the time I was helped out of the car, and in the days that have followed I have told people about this "presence" and voice. I have dealt with some very upset people when they question me about this "presence" and what I felt. They always ask me if I have accepted Christ. I tell them I believe in Jesus. They tell me that anyone who hasn't accepted Christ is going to hell. They tell me the reason why the "presence" was with Taylor and I is because I have been saved. I tell them no, this "presence" is here for everybody. I am sure someday, someone, somewhere is going to pull out a bible, open it to John 3:16 and smack me upside the head with it. I imagine it will hurt, but it still will not change what I felt that day in the car. I thought this "presence" had left me that day, but I have found that it didn't. I have this constant awareness of it, and it has taken me awhile to become used to it. I feel this "presence" in the wind and as I sit by the lake. I feel it in so many things. I see it in all living things. It shines through children. Babies and smaller children are radiant with it. It is always here with us. I have learned there are many names for this "presence": EL ELYON "Most High", ABHIR "Mighty One", "The All Wise", "The All Merciful", "The Ever-Forgiving", KADOSH "Holy One", MAGEN "Shield", "The Lord of Grace Abounding", "The Most Compassionate", "The Truth", EYALUTH "Strength", TSADDIQ "Righteous One", "The Protector", "The One Alone Beloved", MELEKH "King", "The King of Names". Some people call this "presence" God. To me this "presence" has always been known as God. Now when I think of this "presence" I think of it as JEHOVAH-SHAMMAH "The Lord is There, or Ever-Present". It might have appeared to go unnoticed, It has been a long road and finally the end is here. I have learned some wonderful things along the way, and I have also learned some hard truths. I understand the full meaning of the word bittersweet. Yesterday is gone. We can do nothing about it, except learn what we can from it. Tomorrow may never come. Today is all we have. The truth is we don't even have today. We only have this moment and any others that may follow. I would like to offer my thanks to all of you who helped us reach this moment:
To Geff. For always being there. To Taylor. I love you. To Lylah. For all the many things you have done and help you have given us. To Mrs. Frech. For understanding and being patient with Taylor through all of this. To Sharon. Who helped out one night when we needed her. She is always one phone call away. To Jennifer. Who watched Taylor on the day I went to see the car. It was something I needed to do. To Barb. For putting up with my over the phone "pity parties". Especially the one after my hand surgery. To Diane who called after the surgeries. It was the best pain medicine. To Diane and Mike. For having Taylor over to their home some nights. To Barbara. For the many e-mails and phone calls of concern when the e-mails went unanswered. To Lorie. For always being there. To Judy. For the unending moral support. To Andre. For helping us out in a time of financial need. Did I ever tell you, you're my hero? Acknowledgment: Prelude 10 June 1999... A Leap of Faith Dedicated with love and thanks to our family and friends that we leave behind I am sitting at the desk in our bedroom. This desk is located beside the window. It is a sunny afternoon, and the wind is softly blowing the leaves on the tree outside our window. I write this story as I have written others in the past. I type a few lines and look out the window. I watch the cars come and go in the parking lot. I watch people walk past. I watch the birds fly past or sit in the branches of the trees. I watch the squirrels running through the grass, or I watch as they scamper up a tree. I think about what I want to write next, and I four-finger type out the next words on the keyboard. I have written a few stories in this fashion. This story will be different from the other stories I have written, for this will be the last story I will write from here. And after long years of spiritual homelessness, Quick Links to ART & LITERATURE
Pages: See our General Webs for Inspiration & Motivation for more Stories & Poems.
This page was last edited 07/31/04.
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