Yellow Submarine

This next little bit is a pretty incredible, miraculous event, one that many who were involved will remember for years if not the rest of their life as I will for the rest of mine.

It is 'what comes next' and it can not be summed up in just one post, which means it will be a two or three part. Throughout the time that has come and gone, there are several different experiences from this event that have touched me spiritually and emotionally. There are physical scars that have been added to the other scars across my body that highlight my beloved war-wounds of life.

There are a lot of things running through my mind these last several weeks, and days, and when it comes to what I really want to write, well - most of those thoughts are not appropriate for the eyes of fellow BLOG readers, or really for anyone. A lot of what has been going on in my mind, what I really want to write about must be done so with great care and consideration, with maturity, respect and a perspective that leads to light instead of darkness. But those topics I think of often are for another day, not today or tomorrow or a week from now. They will come to me, and the words will be fitting for the message that must be shared, and they will be thoughtfully prayed over as to who may need to read the experiences that have been dealt to my hands and similarly to theirs.

For now, we will continue forward in the memoir with the terrible-awful, yet absolutely amazing Suburban rollover accident most people (who grew up in that small town of Burley) know as The Fiddler Accident.

This name didn't come from a famous fiddler, it came from the play Fiddler on the Roof and it happened faster than anyone could blink an eye.

And so begins the recounting:

There were eleven of us stuffed into the suburban, all singing about that infamous Yellow Submarine in our best theatrical voices. Outside, snow fell so sparsely that my eyes strained to get a glimpse of the flakes; I shivered at the sight of rolling clouds.
Encased in plastic, a Little Debbie's perfection sat in my lap, begging to be devoured. I opened the oatmeal pie and listened to the merriment of the twenty-mile drive.
Sitting to the left, my best-friend clapped to the beat, blue eyes dancing. Spunky girl that Hillary, possessing enough charisma in the corners of her smile to befriend Mr. Hyde. My fingers brought another bite to my lips. cream touching my tongue in the same instant the vehicle jacked left, throwing my body right. My hips, shoulders, and head greeted the window.