If there is no seat belt, I refuse to ride in a car, even if the destination is less than a mile away.
The night before flying to Italy for a 3 week folk dance tour, I almost backed out due to anxiety of flying.
For several years post accident, before a road trip I would write a journal entry about all the things I loved, regretted and wanted to say to my family (like a 'last testament' just in case I died in a car crash)
The idea of a cruise sounds amazing, but fear of 'Titanic crashing' in the ocean only to become shark bait or ending up in a 'perfect storm' is enough to deter me from ever going.
These all make me sound a bit coo-coo-bats, if you will, however, they are real fears or anxiety factors. Not sure if they would have been there regardless of being involved in the accident but they are, and they have to be worked through.
Upon waking from the dream-like state, the sky above filled with clouds; sunset approaching not too far off which meant there would be little light for the scene of the accident. There were people that must have stopped immediately when the accident happened and then quickly exited their vehicles to check the status of the survivors (if there were any - no one knew at that point) and call for ambulances. Only 4 ambulances were in the county, and each one responded.
The beginning of March in Idaho meant that the ground still had the frozen effects from the long, hard winter, it wasn't uncommon for blizzards to come in April. For stretches of miles, most of the terrain had deep barrow pits, fence lines made of barbed wire, clustering of trees and all other uninviting obstacles for a suburban to collide with. The beautiful miracle of the wreck's location was the freshly plowed potato field, and the very recent removal of a long, deep rooted barbed wire fence across the shallow barrow pit. If there was ever an ideal moment for a suburban to flip and eject 10 out of 11 people, this was it.
Nine out of eleven of us were cast members, most with important main-character roles. The second vehicle passed was about four miles out from Oakley. Someone hollered about an oncoming car a bit of a distance off. The wheel was taken by two people, the vehicle over-correcting and the tail-end shifting around so the suburban traveled sideways down the highway towards the left shoulder of the road. There was no stopping the vehicle as it began to roll, flipping towards the barrow pit.
Those looking on, in cars of their own, couldn't believe the amount of bodies that flew out the front and back windows with each toss and turn. Hillary and I, having been sitting right next to each other, landed several yards away from one another. Though the accident site should have been complete chaos and panic, the scene circling the field was encompassed by serene peace, a heavenly glow among all the victims scattered.
Dirt.
Sky.Cold.
Aching body.
Wet. Blood.
Screaming.
Eyes shifted up and head tilted back, I tried to see as much as possible without moving around too much. The vehicle was so far away. My abdomen hurt badly. And back. The pain was overwhelming yet at times dulled by the pumping of adrenaline.
Next to me someone moaned, their voice heavy and wounded as greatly as their body. One of the guys stood up, cursed, and tumbled to the ground. "My leg is broken."
Another friend of mine was frantically sifting the dirt, begging the rest of us to help her find her lost front tooth that had been knocked out. "I'm a toothless whore!" She squealed while her fingers combed the earth.
In my mind the words kept coming, thoughts of my own, 'I'm going to die. I'm going to die. Please don't die. I don't want to die. Am I okay? I'm alive. I'm going to die.' Then they came out of my mouth in sobbed whispers, "Don't die. Don't die. I'm not ready to die. Please, God. Don't let me die. Oh, God, don't let me die!"
Something incredible came over me. A blanket of warmth that soothed the pain and aches. It washed away those worries with simple words that were not my own, 'You will live. You will be okay.'
They were strong, confident, unwavering declarations of an angel in the midst of frail human bodies. Other spiritual instances happened following this, however, they are for my heart to keep close and sacred, not to be shared out in the open.
I stood up, wobbled a bit, then slowly walked a few steps with a hand on my belly screaming for Hillary. Someone came to me, told me to go lie back down and wait for help, but I was frantic and refused to stop searching. "My friend was right by me. I don't know where she is. Is she okay?"
"What does she look like?"
I described her in detail, begged they find her, praying in great faith that she lived. I didn't know if anyone beyond those right next to me were alive at this point in time. The person, I think a man, insisted he lead me back to the area from where I landed. So gently he helped me to the ground while someone put a pillow beneath my head and draped a blanket over my body as it began to shake violently from not the cold, but the sudden onset of shock. The blood from a gash on my forehead seeped into the pillow.
Hands were lain on top of my head, and the first of many priesthood blessings were offered.
With all my might, I fought to stay awake, fearful of slipping into a never-ending sleep.
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