I look at the broken, twisted pieces of plastic spread on my desk.
I finger them, trying to get a sense of reality.
Then the image comes again and again, and I can’t stop it from replaying itself as though a trailer for a horror movie is stuck in my head.
This morning my daughter was almost killed while walking on the sidewalk to go to school. One car turned too soon, a driver’s misjudgment, and hit the back of a speeding oncoming car, causing it to spin wildly out of control. The force of the hit was so great that as debris began flying, the car became airborne and spun through the air, straight for 7-year-old Stacy.
I had been concentrating on rushing my two youngest girls to school as cars sped by on the road beside us. I had heard the horrendous crash (which, I found out later, was heard by people up to two blocks away) and looked up just in time to see a black car spinning through the air toward Stacy like some kind of crazed amusement park ride suddenly loosened.
I expected her to turn and run toward me. Five-year-old Katie, who was only a couple of feet from me, already was heading for my arms. But Stacy, beautiful Stacy, stood stock still and put her fingers in her ears and watched the car flying toward her small frame, for the moment only concerned that there had been an unpleasant loud noise. She hated loud noises. I was yelling to her, “RUN, STACY!! RUN!! COME HERE!” But she could not hear me.
As I watched horror-struck, trying by sheer will to make myself move fast enough to cover the distance before the car could get to her…while realizing in slow motion (with everything else moving at warp speed) that I was about to see her die.
And then the miracle.
The car slammed backwards into a sign post and stopped dead within 10 feet of Stacy. Debris rained around the cars and Stacy. She just stood there. A tiny figure framed against the blackness of the shattered car that had almost killed her and I realized the scream was mine.
Debris from the accident continued to fall from the sky as shock wave after shock wave coursed through me. As I clutched Katie to me and continued rushing toward Stacy, I began to fully realize what had happened and what had almost happened. It was then I noticed the invisible shield that surrounded Stacy. Debris rained down around her, but did not land within her shield.
It had been in those moments, as the car flew toward Stacy and I realized I could not get to her in time and my heart was screaming that she must be saved, that I had felt a tremendous surge of power leave me and head straight for Stacy. I don’t know how else to describe it. It felt like an entire host of presences surged from around me and surrounded Stacy.
Guardian angels can fly much faster than a mommy can run.
When everything had become still and it was clear both drivers were safe and already on their cell phones, the rest of the world snapped back into motion.
Numbly, I rushed the girls to school because we were late…automatically following the last clear thought I’d had in my head. I talked to teachers and told them that I didn’t know if the girls were okay (it turned out that they didn’t fully understand what had happened and were fine). It was then I realized how hard I was shaking, and that I couldn’t stop.
If we had not been delayed by my need to go to the bathroom before we left, Stacy would have been exactly where the car landed. My mother always said to go to the bathroom before leaving the house, in case you were in a car accident, but this morning put an ironic twist to her advice. If I had not gone to the bathroom, Stacy would have been in the accident…as shattered as the bits of plastic that rest on my desk. A reminder to forever be grateful for each moment…the rushed ones, the angry ones, the happy ones.
I will forever know the feeling of seeing a car spinning out of control, heading for my small daughter, with her just out of my reach. Forever I will know that guardian angels, indeed, can be thrown and the feeling of having done just that.
So today and for every day to come, I am thankful. I am thankful that my Stacy, who has such a beautiful and gentle soul, who is so quietly amazingly brilliant, was saved. I am thankful that guardian angels move faster than a mommy. I am grateful that Katie, so much younger and smaller, was not running ahead of us as she usually does. I am grateful that the occupants of the two cars were able to walk away and their families will not have to mourn. And I am grateful that neither driver will have to bear the pain of feeling responsible for a child’s death.
After the girls were safely at school, I walked to city hall, skirting the torn-up corners where new traffic lights are being installed.
For eight years I have worked to get a traffic light at the corner where Stacy almost died. The concrete footers for the light posts have been poured but the city has been working to replace old lights first, before installing our new one.
At city hall, the city engineer was running late and was rushing to a meeting. As tears streamed down my face, I told him the meeting could wait. He listened as I told him I thought it only fair that he should have to hear what happened this morning, that he (as a father of young children, himself) be made aware of how the delays almost cost the city a child.
Copyright 2017 A. Barnes | All Rights Reserved.