I give credit to my hubby's sister for instilling in me to get involved with 911 on behalf of others. Many people do not call the hot number; debating that they don't have enough info, they don't want to get involved, or someone else is on top of it. I am one who calls as soon as danger lurks and have never been told they already have someone on top of it.
At the same time, remembering some of the events that lead me to make these calls has me wondering where I am hanging out, or what type of guardian angle is over me. Times like when two groups of hot headed teens got out of two cars in front of me at an intersection to fight; or the time when a car was in a ditch hood first in a gully of water, or when I saw a mini camo tank with rifle abandoned on the side of the highway shortly after 9/11. But there is one event flagged in my memory every-single-time I drive by the cross streets where the accident occurred.
Shortly after retrieving my daughter from preschool, I was taking both children to my in-laws for a date and sleepover. We were headed down the road like any other day, and ahead of us was a truck carrying a large (huge) American flag in the bed of his truck. You could not miss this truck due to the proud flying flag, but also because he was going super fast coming up on the main thoroughfare in which I was traveling.
And then I noticed a dark Ford Explorer coming my direction on this main road; with trees blocking their vision of the truck, I immediately saw the future. I started to slow down my car just as the barreling truck crossed over his stop sign line, smashing into the side of the Explorer hurling it side-over-side-over-side as it traveled closer to me; landing upside down less than 50 yards away.
Panicked and shaken, I remember dialing 9-1-1 as the car was being tossed through the air, telling my children to stay buckled as I parked and ran out of my car. Noticing a stroller had been thrown from the Explorer I honestly could not get myself to look into the SUV as I was talking to the dispatcher. A woman from the car behind me yelled that she was a nurse and literally crawled her way into the SUV to retrieve a newborn baby. The mother, shaken and banged up, somehow found her way out and sat on the curb in complete shock as the nurse handed her the crying baby. The woman said she was just traveling home from the baby's one week old check up. The man in the truck, beside himself, pacing the sidewalk, and crying could not find a way out of his horrible cause.
The police came, spoke to all the witnesses and asked us to leave, as the aid cars were assessing the damage to the people who were lucky enough to walk out of this split second accident. Driving the rest of the way to the in-laws was guided only by auto-pilot, because I was still replaying that scene over and over in my head.
I still do to this day as I traveled that path again; thankful of the outcome and quick response of rescue. And wondering what ever came of that mother and child, and if she too thinks of that day every time she travels that road; or perhaps she rightfully avoids it.
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