Sunday Morning Angel

My ears perked as I was casually conversing with a friend. She shared with me a heartfelt story of how she recently witnessed a car accident on the highway and stopped to help a young girl who had been involved. I was jealous as she told me what happened, and I genuinely reacted in joy to the way that she was used to be a blessing to this scared girl. What an amazing opportunity!

Weeks later my husband and I were less than five minutes away from church on a Sunday morning. We came up on a large intersection and the light was out. Suddenly we noticed one car in the middle of the road, and another off to the side. Something didn’t feel right. I realized the truth and did everything except jump out of the car. Kevin mentioned that there must have JUST been an accident, and per my intense and sudden command, he pulled our car into the 7-11 gas station to the right. I grabbed my phone out of my bag, stuck it into my jean’s back pocket and took off running. Another man was a few steps behind me and yelled out, “My wife called 911!” I crossed the median and ran towards a redheaded woman who looked to be in her 30’s. She was holding a baby, standing beside a smashed up car. In my peripheral, I saw an elderly man in his Sunday best, slowly creeping out of the driver’s seat of his SUV stopped in the middle of the intersection. From 30 feet away, I could see bright red blood on the cuff of his sleeve. “He’s walking.” I thought. “He’s going to be alright.” It could have been much worse.

The woman’s small, black car had smashed into the electrical box at the corner of the intersection and knocked out the traffic lights. The electrical box to this day is still smashed inward, bearing the scar of this very accident.

My attention turned to a young mom, clutching her 6 month old son in her arms. She had long red, curly hair tied back in a ponytail, and she was dressed in a casual t-shirt and jeans. Her day had started out normal. Just another Sunday morning. The baby was calm as could be and didn’t have a scratch on him. I rushed to her side. “My name is Kim. Are you okay?” She was flustered and told me her name and that she had just dropped her husband off at work down the road. Mental note- her husband is nearby. “What happened?” The words couldn’t come out fast enough. “I was driving in the right lane, and I know my light was green! He just cut right in front of me, and I didn’t have any time to react. I know the light was green, he hit me!” She wasn’t furious; she was traumatized. She held her son so close, and we talked about him. He had cried for a few minutes after it happened, but she was beyond thankful that he was okay. She pressed his little face to hers, and a few tears escaped.

She was taller and bigger than me, but I stood close to her and rubbed her shoulder and arms with my hand. At this point I figured she needed more comfort than personal space.  “Can I call your husband for you? Do you need anything from the car?” I retrieved her phone from the car and quickly figured out how to call her husband. “Hello?” I suddenly felt like a professional. “Sir, I am here with your wife. She has been in an accident, but she and the baby are okay.” He didn’t want to talk to me, and I handed her the phone. I took a quick peek in the car to see if there was anything else valuable, and laid a few things near her feet. A gallon of water had busted in the backseat and trickled into the carpet. I found a CD case with dozens of CD’s and began to wipe the water off. She looked down at what I was doing. “Oh yeah, sorry. We’re old school.” I found some baby toys, and we also popped the trunk for needed items. Who knows when she was going to be seeing this car next?

Paramedics arrived and got right to work sweeping the glass from the street and moving the other vehicle from the middle of the intersection. They were working so fast and got the place cleaned up and traffic directed around the crash. They were efficient, kind, and strong men and women. At one point they used brute force to move some metal part of the car back into place.  We were impressed.

After she gave her statement to the police, she was back by herself again. I looked at the red wound on her collarbone from the seatbelt. “I have some cream and medicine. Do you want Advil or Tylenol?” My dad always had packets of medicine with him, and it became a habit for me, too. Kevin brought me my bag, and I pulled out some anti-biotic cream and pills. The initial shock had worn off, and her neck was starting to get sore. I applied the cream on the few cuts and scrapes she had, and she swallowed some pills to ease the pain.

We surveyed the scene, and things were dying down. Her husband finally showed up and wondered who we were. “Are these the people that hit you?” She came quickly to our defense. “No! They came and helped. They have been nothing but help.” I smiled. This was our queue. I hugged her and rubbed her sweet baby’s hand. She looked into my eyes. “Thank you so much. I was so scared. I am just glad my baby is okay. Thank you for everything.” I welcomed her thanks but felt nothing more than gratitude myself that I was able to be there at the split second that she needed me. On that day, in that moment, I was a First Responder. I sprinted to be by her side, because I knew that she needed someone. I wanted to be that someone. 

I wanted to be her Angel. 

My dad, My hero

“Nothing good ever happens after midnight.” – My Dad. 

My tired legs made the short walk across Arnie’s Restaurant parking lot to climb into my 1997 Chevy Lumina in the dark. The inside of my car was dark as well, because the interior lights were broken. My four older brothers drove the car for years before I finally got the chance to drive it to work and school. Between the hundreds of wrestling practices and gym bags, the car almost permanently smelled like sweat. Manly, spoiled, stale sweat. The brake pedal became so worn, you practically had to jam it into the floor to stop, even if you weren’t going very fast. We were all thankful that the radio lasted through the years, but not much else. The car suffered two car accidents—totaled once—and the back door was replaced with a junkyard door. It was also hit by a deer in the front hood, (that’s a whole other story in itself), and we all knew it was on its last leg. I was scared most of the time that the thing was just going to blow up on me. My family assured me that was nearly impossible.

The evening, chock-full of one hungry customer after another, had been a long waitressing shift. I sank into my driver’s seat and mentally unwound from hours on my feet in a fast-paced environment. I loved this job. It was perfect for me. But with the night over, I was ever so thankful. I couldn’t wait to get out of my food-stained black uniform, count my tips from the night, shower, and climb into bed. I glanced at the clock and noticed it was quite late for me. Friday night shifts were the latest, but I usually still made it home well before midnight. The clock read 11:30pm, so I knew no one would be up when I finally stepped into my quiet house.  

I turned right and stopped at the first of many street lights on the East Beltline. Then, as I pressed my foot down on the gas pedal, nothing seemed to happen. I panicked at the abnormality. I “floored” it, but instead, the car gently coasted through the green light. I didn’t get much further. About 30 feet from the light, my precious car simply stopped. At first, I had absolutely no clue what to do. I didn’t even know where the hazard lights were! I fumbled across the steering wheel in the darkness, searching for anything sticking out that could resemble a HELP sign. I glanced in the rear view mirror and saw headlights coming at me from behind. This couldn’t be happening. It’s so late, there is bound to be dangerous drivers on the road, and here I am in the left lane like a sitting duck. Suddenly, I notice a  man run up to my window. A split second before I rolled down my window, I found the hazard lights. I flipped them on and then turned to him. “Are you okay? Do you need anything?” I frantically exclaimed back that I was okay, because I found my hazard lights. At the moment, apparently, that’s all I cared about. After he left, I turned around quickly and grabbed the orange quilt I kept in the backseat. Winters in Michigan are brutal, and I knew it would get cold if the heat stopped working. I shivered under the blanket and then reached for my phone.

“Mom? Something is wrong with the car. I am on the East Beltline, just past Woodland mall. I got past the light, but there are cars coming at me. I turned on my hazards, and I have a blanket, so I am okay.”

“Dad’s out of bed and on his way!”

After a few minutes, I hung up the phone. Dad was out of bed and on his way, just like that. I barely got out the sentences to my Mom, and she knew trouble immediately. My dad, who sleeps like a bear, quickly dressed and was on his way. For some reason, I was shocked. I didn’t exactly expect him to react like lightning. I am the night person; he is the morning person. When he passes out for the night, he is out for good. Not this time. “He’s coming to get me.” I said to myself. A gentle wave of peace touched me.

The headlights kept coming so quickly behind me and would turn to the other lane at the last second. My thoughts turned to a second disaster of someone possibly hitting me from behind. I literally braced myself for a jolt that I felt sure would come. I just prayed that my little blanket would keep me safe and warm until my Dad came. I couldn’t think past that, and I had to eventually stop looking in the rear view mirror altogether to avoid a panic attack.

I saw our big maroon van barreling down the East Beltline, heading towards me. The Carrel Bus. My heart skipped a beat, and I drew a long breath of relief. My dad. Thank God.

Somehow we managed to get the Lumina to the side of the road, and I hopped in Dad’s van. He asked me what happened, and I explained to him every detail. Come to find out, the car had run out of gas.

Out of gas? Seriously? I know I am a young teenage driver, but am I that stupid? It couldn’t be.

True story. My brothers and I filled the cars up as we needed. Sometime we had a lucky $20. Sometimes we paid with whatever we had with us. Most of the time, it was a measly $5. We didn’t want to pay for each other’s gas. Everything else in the car had broken; I was sure that the gas gauge had been broken at some point. So although I could see that the tank was on E, I didn’t believe it. Surely it was just another thing wrong with the Lumina. Something we laughed about along with the dent from the deer on the front hood.

I wasn’t laughing, though. I felt so foolish. I sat in the passenger side of the van as he took care of the car. We went home, and that was it. My dad didn’t mention anything. He didn’t scold me for not filling up or not paying attention. He could have capitalized on this teachable moment. But, for whatever reason, he let it go. All I can ever think about now, is the simple fact that my dad came to rescue me. And that’s all that matters.