This post has been sitting as a draft for the past three months. I never published it because, at the time, and even now, I've felt a loss of words to adequately describe the emotions we've felt throughout this ordeal (which is still far from over since the court date isn't until the end of February). We've certainly counted our blessings numerous times, but the thoughts of what could have been are unsettling. Even months later, Owen still talks about the accident almost daily.
Our Owen turned four. Sadly, it has been a bit of a sore subject at our house. He is, in fact, in denial and if you ask him he will likely still hold up three fingers and insist that he is still just three.
Initially, he was excited about his birthday. He requested a Spiderman cake and we celebrated round one of his birthday the weekend before his actual birthday. On his real birthday day, his sweet primary teacher took him out for ice cream. He absolutely adores his primary teacher.
She gave him a CTR (choose the right) ring.
The day after his birthday was when things turned sour. Owen's birthday is September 1st, it fell on a Thursday this year. On Friday, Chris was out of town refereeing a football game. The kids and I made french bread pizza for dinner and then headed for a quick walk down the lane to retrieve the mail. The weather was beautiful and once we were to the mailbox, they asked if we could walk to the hospital so they could ride their bikes in the empty parking lot near the clinic. We live on dirt roads so they think riding on pavement is a treat. I told them we could go if the girls would promise to ride Owen's little trike home when his legs were tired of pedaling. We walked to the hospital and the kids rode around for a while until the wind started to pick up. We headed for home with Ava and Owen in the double stroller. Lily was riding Owen's little trike, Emma was on a scooter and Grace was on her bike. Emma and Grace decided they wanted to switch about halfway home so we stopped on the side of the road to make the swap.
We stopped in front of a house that has a gravel parking area about 8 feet wide off the side of the road. I remember hearing a loud truck coming to the stop sign behind us. I looked back and saw that there was an old flatbed truck turning our direction. I assessed everyone's positions. I determined that we were all clearly several feet off the road, so I turned to watch Grace and Emma as they switched bikes. I was shocked when the pick-up hit us from behind. It hit my left arm and back and then continued on to hit the stroller with Owen and Ava inside. The stroller spun and flipped behind the truck and into the middle of the road, it landed upside down. I cannot begin to describe the fear as I ran to retrieve the stroller from the road. I was so scared of what I would see when I flipped it up. Thankfully, Owen and Ava were conscious and their injuries appeared to be minor. They were scraped and bruised and Ava's nose was bleeding. The truck that hit us backed up and the driver got out. He walked around the back of the truck and asked if we were ok. His behavior was very bizarre. He never offered us assistance and never came within six feet of us. He had a passenger in his truck who made eye contact with me but never said anything and never got out of the truck. The driver asked me twice what my name was and then walked back around to the front of his truck where I thought he was going to get a phone to call for help, but instead he got in and drove away. I stood there bewildered holding Owen and Ava and wondering if in fact this was all really happening. Thankfully, I had the clarity of mind to notice his plate number as he drove away. I said the numbers over and over to the girls and told them that it was important that they help me remember them.
The man who lived in the house we had stopped in front of happened to be out in his yard and witnessed the incident. He hurried over to offer us aid. He gave us a ride a short distance down the road to our neighbor's house (who happens to also be our family physician and our stake president). Their family quickly took action by calling 911 and reporting the driver and then taking us to the emergency room for a thorough check-up.
It's interesting because in my sheltered existence, initially, the thought never crossed my mind that the driver who hit us could be drunk. The accident occurred at approximately 7pm in broad daylight, and in my mind, it was far too early to have to worry about drunk drivers plowing into you. I couldn't understand why he had left us beside the road. His speech was slurred, and I honestly thought perhaps he was mentally challenged since his behavior was so bizarre. I was even feeling somewhat sorry for him thinking perhaps he really didn't understand what he had done. It didn't take long for the police to track him down and find out that his blood alcohol level was well above the legal limit. We were still in the emergency room when they brought word that they had found him. They photographed everyone's injuries and began documentation of all that had occurred.
I don't think the severity of it all hit until after we made it home from the hospital and the adrenaline began to wear off. Only then, did the "what ifs" begin to flood in. I talked with the girls about how thankful we were to all be ok, and how if we had been hit even a few inches further over I would have been struck straight in the back and the stroller would have likely flipped in front of the truck instead of behind it. We spent some time talking through things and knelt to offer a prayer of thanks together. It was a tender moment where we each distinctively felt the love of our Savior and Father in Heaven.
On Saturday, grandma Carla and Traci's family came down to party with us for Owen's birthday. In true Traci fashion, they showed up with a shiny new double jogging stroller to replace the one that had been mangled the night before. She never ceases to amaze me.
(holding up three fingers, insisting that he plans to stay three)
