I sighed heavily and looked upon my father’s painfully swollen body that had been pumped full of liquids to keep him alive. His wedding ring had been cut off and left behind an intense red circle symbolizing his marriage. On the exterior, little physical damage had occurred other than a harsh road rash on his left shoulder, a few crimson pricker marks on his right hand, and a scuff mark above his eye brow. His eyes were that of a purple shade, and he could barely manage to open them enough to make note of where he was.
Some people just have luck on their side while others it seems they are doomed to a life filled with agony, loss, and pain. To a degree life is what you make of it. However, there are certain instances where luck, coincidence, and chance simply cannot explain everything. Some call it God, while other may call is destiny or fate. My father’s life was in the hands of one unknowing nurse who made the right call when everyone else shied away from the fragile truth. Without her my father would not be here today and my life would be drastically different. I believe in miracles and not a day goes by in which my thoughts do not wander to the miracle that my family experienced.
When an accident occurs you truly find out who your friends are and where your loyalties lie. My mother never once left my fathers bedside and she treated him with tenderness and care which was something I was not familiar with. People whom had lost touch with our family sent flowers and cards wishing him a speedy and full recovery. His business partner drove three hours the second he heard the news to comfort my mother and pray for my father. I was truly blown away by the generosity that was shown to my parents. In particular, I can recall the letter from one man, Jay Alexander. They had worked together in the early nineties and had lost touch in the past ten years. This was one of the first letters he received and I was in awe of this man and his consideration for someone he had not spoken to in nearly a decade.
My brothers and I were crowded around his bedside standing in utter silence for we were sincerely at a loss for words. One by one we took turns reading him our father’s day card and I struggled to maintain my poseur. I can vividly remember the overbearing sunlight that burst into his room, the blue and white patterned tiles that I memorized to drastic myself from the harsh truth, and the one single tear that streamed down his face after we all had finished reading our cards. He had lost all sense of time and was incoherent to anything and everything that was around him. On the ride home I allowed my mind to wander and I kept coming back to the same thought, he had been so extremely lucky. He had not been wearing a helmet, or a jacket, or long pants, or even a pair of boots on his feet. If his body had landed on the tar instead of the dirt, if the ambulance had been a few minutes later, if the nurse had made the decision to call the helicopter six hundred seconds later, he would have died from internal bleeding. If that one nurse had ignored her gut feeling and chose not to stand up to everyone that was against her, my belief would not be what it is today.
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