After your kid leaves this earth you do a lot of thinking – at least I do. I come up with some pretty crazy ideas too.
A few months before Richard died I was involved in a truck crash. My Toyota pickup truck verses a Big Rig. It ran over me on I-64.
It was the first week of February. That winter had been a bad one for driving. We’d had several ice storms. On that night, as I left work for the 45 mile drive home, the roads were clear.
There are two exits for Frankfort, KY on I-64, five miles apart. In the middle is the Kentucky River. You pass one exit and then descend down a long slow decline, cross the river, then drive up a long slow incline back to the top and then pass the second exit.
This area between the Frankfort exits, across the Kentucky River valley, is a moisture magnet. If there is any rain, snow or ice in the air, it will fall between those exits. I’ve been making near daily trips along this stretch of road for more than three decades now, and it’s always been that way.
So I wasn’t a bit surprised when ice started falling as I began to near Frankfort.
It was light at first, but like always it got worse the closer to Frankfort I got. The surface was soon covered in a slush and ice combo. As I passed the first exit the ice was much worse. I slowed down and shifted into 4-wheel drive mode. Driving down the hill toward the river I could feel the road grow slicker. I wasn’t in a hurry, so I slowed down more. As I got close to the bottom of the hill and the Kentucky River bridge I was probably doing between 30 and 35 miles per hour.
As I concentrated on keeping my truck on the road I remember looking up at the rearview mirror. I saw a tractor trailer truck coming up on me fast. I realized he was going to hit me, and there wasn’t a thing either of us could do at that point to keep it from happening. I don’t remember being really afraid about it, it was just a mental calculation of speed and distance, as the headlights rapidly filled my mirror.
The next thing I remember was looking up at the headliner of my truck. The seat was laid backward, so I was facing the roof. The top half of the steering wheel was bent backwards at a 90 degree angle. I grabbed it and pulled myself upright.
The truck was pointed uphill in what appeared to be a woods. The still running pickup (gotta love those Toyotas) was backed down in between several trees. I couldn’t see any road from where my truck sat. I had no idea how I had gotten there.
I unbuckled my seat belt and got out of the truck. There was some guy coming down the hill and asking, “Are you alright?”
I had a bit of a headache, and there seemed to be a bump on the back of my head, but all parts were still attached and moving when I wanted them to, so I told him I was.
I did consent to an ambulance ride to the hospital to be checked out when the medics arrived.
Many hours later the details were filled in.
The truck driver claimed to be doing 60 miles per hour when he rear-ended me. There was a sliding window in my truck cab, and I knocked the section behind the driver seat out with my head.
Got a concussion and a bit of a cut on the back of my head.
My truck was totalled.
I didn’t even remember the truck coming up on me until a couple of hours after the wreck. Until then I thought it was a single vehicle accident.
Everyone tells me I was lucky to still be alive. And that’s where the crazy thoughts come in…
Maybe I’m not still alive.
Maybe I was killed in the crash and my body is the one buried near my mom at the cemetery, not Richard’s.
I mean really, couldn’t this be hell?
I know we all think of hell as some big sea of fire. The devil prances around above with some nice cold sweet tea, and just laughs at the bad people as they suffer in the flames. That’s the hell the good Sisters of Mercy taught me about back in my Catholic grade school days.
But wouldn’t that be soft time compared to this?
Maybe when you go to hell you think you’re still alive, and the devil makes bad things happen to your family.
That’s one of the crazy thoughts I’ve had since Richard died.
I wasn’t a saint. I didn’t even get close to it. But I don’t think I was so horrible that God couldn’t forgive me and would send me straight to hell. I’m just guessing at his standards here, but I’ve never felt I was that close to the edge.
So maybe I’m not in hell. And that’s where another crazy thought comes in…
Could I have made a deal with the angel of death?
What if I was supposed to die in the crash. But while I was out of it after using my head for a hammer against the rear window, the Grim Reaper offered to let me come back, if I’d offer up one of my beautiful children in my place. Certainly either of them would be a much more valuable catch than me.
I’ve never wanted to die. The thought has always scared the crap out of me. I always liked it here. Sign me up for the immortality juice.
Could I have made a deal? Would I have done something so horrible, just to save myself?
I really love that kid, so I don’t think I would do it. I hope I wouldn’t do it.
I pray I didn’t do it.
So there are just a couple of my crazy thoughts. They are crazy, aren’t they… Or are they? Either of them could have happened. How the heck would I know if they did?
Welcome to the wacky mind of a grieving parent.
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