The Crash

Someone called my name, but it blended into my dream, and I didn’t wake up. Life was good, but the second time I heard my name I woke up and jumped  to my feet.

   “Dad!”

    It was my boy, Levi, and it was urgent. It was dark until I opened the door where the hall light was on. I looked down the hall, and he was there. Regardless of how bad it could be, he was alright, and I was grateful for that.

“There’s been a wreck. There’s a girl at our front door!”

I ran down the hall and found a girl by the stairs at the front door weeping, barefooted, and bloody. I was in my boxers.

“What happened baby?”

“She’s not moving...she’s not moving.”

“Who?”

“My grandmother...”

“It’s gonna be alright.”

My shorts and t-shirt were on a chair in the kitchen, waiting for a workout which wasn’t going to happen. I threw them on along with the only shoes I could find, black dress shoes. Janine (not her real name) was still standing by the door, shivering. She wore an oversized sweatshirt with the end of the sleeves covering her hands, and her hands covering her face. I yelled down the hall for Colleen to call 911, but she was already on the phone with Caddo Parish Dispatch. It was 5:50 am.

I had been awake less than a minute when I ran through the front door. The road in front of my house is busy during commuting hours but rural the rest of the time. Accidents are rare, but not unusual. In the 32 years I’ve lived here, I’ve seen half a dozen bad wrecks, all of them single vehicle. Normally when there’s a wreck, traffic slows down and sometimes stops, but on this morning, traffic was heavy and fast. Something was wrong. Maybe the crash was down the road, and the girl walked up to the driveway. 

It was dark and the lights under the carport made it seem even darker, so I went past the lights to see better but still saw nothing. I had the presence of mind to grab a flashlight when I went outside, and I shined it down the driveway, but there was nothing there. I pointed the light to the left, and the beam landed on a giant box near the road. It was a vehicle and far enough away from the road that no one saw it in the dark.

I ran to the SUV. It was sitting at a 45 degree angle between the ditch and the driveway. It was steaming and the roof was crimped from rolling over. Somehow, it landed on its wheels. You never want to see the effects of a crash like that, but I couldn’t ignore it. I looked inside expecting to find the grandmother in the driver’s seat, but there was no sign of anyone in the front or back.

Cars sped by, oblivious to the emergency. The speed limit is 45 but 60 feels better, especially at that time of day. I ran to the other side of the SUV and found a woman lying in the ditch. She was on her back beside the culvert, six feet from the road. She was unconscious but breathing, but it was the labored, heavy breathing of distress. I spoke to her, believing she could hear me. I didn’t want to scare her, but I wanted her to know she was not alone.

I heard the sound of footsteps running down the driveway. It was my boy, and that’s when I teared up.

I stood up and waved my arms.

“Don’t come over here buddy.” I collected myself.

“Shine your light on the road and keep traffic off us.”

We want to protect our children from traumatic events even though we know we can’t. At 21, he was a grown man who had seen worse things as a teenager, but I tried. Lord knows I tried.

When I turned back to her, I was all business. It seemed disrespectful to disturb her, but I had to. She was down in the ditch and needed to be on flat ground for CPR. She was my age and badly broken, but she was still breathing. She couldn’t respond, so I told her what I was doing.

“I’m here and I’m gonna help you. I’ve got to slide you up a little.”

I straddled her body, put my arms under her arm pits and pulled her up while asking God to have mercy on her. I told her the firemen were on the way, and she would be alright, and I told her about the most important thing in life: “Call on Jesus. He’s your only hope.”

I told her Bible verses about repentance and faith in Jesus. I told her verses about the imputed righteousness of Christ while doing compressions on her chest.

Levi was at the driveway with a light, and the cars slowed down. Some stopped. I was in the the ditch, eye level with the road, and I saw feet approach me in the headlight beams. It was a woman and a man. They stopped at the fog line, and I was relieved that someone stopped to help us. The woman spoke first.

“What happened?”

Behind me was an SUV covered with mud and grass, missing its windshield with the roof caved in.

“There’s been a wreck.” One-two-three. One-two-three.

This time the man spoke, “I think a deputy lives here.”

“That’s me.” One-two-three. One-two-three.

I didn’t look up. I wish I had the presence of mind to ask them to move their cars down to the next driveway and turn on their flashers to slow down the traffic, but I was distracted with CPR. The man and woman got back in their cars and drove away, leaving us alone again.

“Call out to Jesus.” One-two-three.

“Hang in there...the firemen are coming.” One-two-three.

“Repent and believe in Jesus.” One-two-three.

“You’re doing great, keep breathing.” One-two-three. One-two-three.

The fire truck finally pulled up beside us. Dustin Pilcher hopped out, told me I was doing good, and to keep going. He put a big red bag beside me and told the others to bring the board. Her body was on a flat spot, but her legs went down to the ditch. I was standing over her with one foot in the ditch and one on top of the culvert. Dustin and I pulled her all the way out of the ditch, and he took over.

She was still breathing when I ran to the house and found Colleen with her arms around Janine. A fireman was putting bandages on her feet. She was a fifth grader at Walnut Hill School. She gave me her great grandmother’s phone number, and I called. It took a while for Janine’s great grandmother to answer, and when she did, she seemed confused. I told her her daughter was in dire condition, but Janine was alright.

At the road, the firemen were putting the woman in the ambulance, and the Sheriff’s Office was there  getting names, taking measurements, and writing an accident report. The road was completely shut down. The wrecker was on the way. The mangled vehicle, useless now, was clearly visible in the morning light and a sure sign of tragedy. Glass was everywhere, and tools, and car parts. 

Levi and I walked down the road following the SUVs path in the ditch. Going west, there is a slight curve in the road, unnoticeable unless you look hard, and the SUV straightened the curve and drove off the road. In the ditch, a crater of mud and water remained where the top of the SUV had momentarily buried itself, only to roll through and land upright. Tracks in the grass revealed where it left the road between my neighbor’s driveway and mine. The woman had been thrown out of the truck through the windshield when it rolled. She was taking Janine to her mother’s house before work, and her mother would take her to school later. Janine was asleep on the back seat without a seat belt. 

Something happened along the way, a distraction, an animal in the road, or sleepiness; we’ll never know for sure, but the little SUV went off the road to the right. The woman tried to recover, but she overcorrected, and the truck tripped over itself in the ditch. When it stopped, it was facing the wrong way, and Janine was jarred awake. She crawled out through a window to find her grandmother lying in the ditch.

The crash woke Levi up that morning, but he didn’t know what it was. He had fifteen minutes left to sleep but couldn’t, so he let the dog out. She barked hystericalIy at the road. When he looked outside, he saw Janine at the end of the driveway by the road, crying. She was walking through broken glass barefooted. He picked her up and brought her inside. I’m still proud of him for that.

Janine’s great grandparents and aunt and uncle arrived just after the ambulance left. Her great grandmother broke down in tears. Janine was pleased to see them, but Colleen didn’t want to let her go. If she had it her way, Janine would be with us still.

The family rushed to the hospital. Levi and I went inside to clean up. When we came back out, the wrecker was loading up the SUV, and the firemen were back. They stopped to tell us the woman didn’t make it. We expected it, but it hurt all the same. We raked up a pile of glass, plastic, and car parts. Levi set the mailbox back in its hole. The wrecker loaded the SUV and took it away. The firemen and deputies left. Traffic returned to normal, and Levi and I went to work.

Unless you were there that morning, you would never know that a woman fought for her life in the ditch in front of my house during the early morning hours while her granddaughter mourned for her and wondered why the tragedy happened. 

It was a brief reminder that life is fragile and circumstances can change in seconds without warning, but it’s also a reminder that life is precious and God is merciful.

October 2018

Keithville, LA