6 Seconds of Forever

As I sit on my porch, wide awake, drinking my morning coffee, thanking God for another day, I see it. I see it so vividly, it’s like it’s happening on replay right before my eyes. I hear the sounds, the screams. I smell the blood. I see the mangled metal and busted glass. I feel the pain and numbness. It’s on a constant replay that, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t turn off. Over and over and over again. It just keeps playing.

What started out as a great morning, surrounded by our ABHA family and stand-out cattle, turned into a nightmare that I can’t wake up from. I’ve always been a person that needed an outlet. Many, many years ago, that outlet was writing. I would write, and it was just for me. Not a single person has ever read the words I’ve written if their purpose was for a release. More times than I can count, my outlet was to drive myself to my favorite place on Edisto River, sit and watch the river flow with ease, and try to let my worries/trouble/anger/sadness go and find my peace again. And then I found my love for baking, and that also became an outlet in it’s own way. But as I sit here trying to see the beauty, literally right in front of me, I only see the accident, and I know I need an outlet. I find that the only outlet I’ve known that I’m able to function to do is write. Not only am I scared to drive, but it hurts too bad. I can’t stand at my mixer to bake a cake; I can’t sit at my table and decorate cookies; it just hurts too bad. My body can’t physically take it.

So now, I write. And it very well may be the only thing I write for release that anyone ever gets to read.

Did you know that 6 seconds can seem like a lifetime and an instant all at once? (I know sports fans can relate.) There is a dash cam video of our accident, and that’s exactly how long it lasted. From the initial impact, until the time my vehicle came to rest. 6 seconds. It takes me longer than 6 seconds to put on a pair of jeans! There are 86,400 seconds in a day, but all it took to change our lives and our outlook on life was 6.

At 6:43pm we talked briefly with our kids on the phone. At 7:18pm, at a dead stop, we were hit from behind (from what we’re told, by someone traveling 70mph). We never saw it coming. I think back and think how that could’ve been the last time I ever spoke to my children, 6:43pm on a Thursday. I can’t help but think if we hadn’t survived, would they know how much we loved them? Would they always be cared for and loved? Would they forget who we are? Naturally, I know they would be fine, but in my mind, I can’t help but wonder. What if?

We had just stopped to get fuel and switch drivers so Kevin could rest some. (He was heading to GA to pick up our heifer after we got home.) He had just opened a water bottle to take a sip. Everything was normal. We had been back on the interstate for less than a few miles before the accident happened. I can still hear, what I can only describe as a bomb going off, as we were hit. I can still feel my body being slammed against the driver’s door. I can still see the asphalt at my face out of my window as my head made impact with the glass and remember thinking “This is it. We’re about to flip. We’re going to die.” (Yes, I actually thought those exact words.) I hear myself screaming Kevin’s name as I reach for him, in a voice that I can only describe as pure terror. It’s a sound I’ve never heard myself make until that moment, one that keeps replaying like it’s on repeat, and I pray I never hear it again. We somehow managed not to flip and were slammed back upright. (No amount of science will ever explain to me how that happened. None. I’ve seen the video.)

I hear him, in a panic, asking if I’m okay. He repeats himself so many times because I don’t answer. I was just coming to after hitting my head. I can’t speak. My voice won’t work. Looking back, I don’t know that I ever answered him. The next thing I remember was forcing myself out of the vehicle, still not completely sure of what happened. I didn’t even know where I was. I’m not sure how I managed to stand, let alone walk. My entire left side was in pain and numb, yes, at the same time.

I made my way to the front of my vehicle to get to Kevin on the other side. I hear someone shouting, “Ma’am! Ma’am! Are you okay? Are you hurt? Is anyone else in the vehicle?” Again, I don’t know if I even answered him. (This “him” turns out to be Preston Metts from Orangeburg fire department. He was off duty and quickly took control. I will forever be grateful to him, his calmness, and demeanor throughout the whole ordeal.) I remember asking, “What happened?”. I’m not sure who even responded, but I was told “You were in a car accident.” I’m thinking, “How? I was stopped. My car wasn’t moving. Surely they’ve got it wrong. There was no way I was involved in an accident.”

It was at that moment that I saw a guy, who didn’t look older than 25, sitting in left lane of the interstate. Sitting. In the middle of the lane on the interstate. A few yards to his left, I could see a mangled hunk of metal. Only then, did I finally realize we had been hit by someone. I see his bloody face; him holding his head in his hands. Reaching out. He kept repeating, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Over. And. Over. And. Over. I’ll never forget his voice or the pain etched in it. I’ll never forget that scene, his face, or how he made those words sound. They will never sound the same to me again. Ever. I will always hear him.

Preston, totally in control, called 911 while checking on the guy that hit us. What did I do? I went to the guy who could have killed us, asked if he was okay, quickly glanced over his body for any majorly obvious fractures, and assisted Preston in wrapping his head until emergency responders arrived. (My hands were so shakey all I could do was hold my phone light.) I helped the guy that could have ended my life. Why did I do it? How did I do it in such shock? Why did I instantly try to help versus lash out in anger and hatred? I’ll never be able to answer those questions. It’s not something I gave any thought to at the time. In my heart, I just knew I was needed.

All of that…. and it happened in a mere 6 seconds! 6. Seconds. In a matter of seconds, our lives, our kids lives, could’ve been drastically changed forever.

These 6 seconds seem to last an eternity when it replays in my mind. I’ve watched the video of the crash at least 100 times by now, in real time and slow motion. It’s a strange thing to watch the first person replay in your mind, as it happened, and see it from the outside all at the same time.

I don’t have a police report yet. All we know is the other driver’s name. We don’t know how old he is or what caused the accident. I can’t speak for the guy that hit us, but my husband and I are both incredibly thankful that Preston was where he was when he was. If he had not been, the guy that hit us would have, without a doubt, been stuck by another vehicle. We would have been hit by another vehicle. Watching the dash cam video, it’s obvious Preston saw the crash coming. You can see him maneuver his vehicle to take up both the right and left hand lanes and begin to slow down. I can only imagine a much different and much more grave outcome if it weren’t for Preston Metts.

Kevin and I have talked about the “what ifs” until I’m tired of those two words. There’s a reason God put us where he did, when he did and that Preston was 2 cars behind us. There’s a reason we drove my Yukon XL instead of Kevin’s truck and cattle trailer. There’s a reason we decided not to let the kids go on this trip. There’s always a reason. This accident proves that. There’s no doubt in my mind, that if the small 4 door car that was in front of us in traffic would have been hit, it would have ended differently. I fussed with Kevin about taking my car on a trip if it was just the two of us going, but this accident was the reason; we just didn’t know it at the time. My car, being the size it was, undoubtedly saved our Iives.

You see, 6 seconds seems like nothing; just a blip in time really. But that night, November 19th, it was an eternity. An eternity that I hope will stop replaying in my head when I’m awake and in my dreams when I’m sleeping.

We are alive, and that is the most important thing. We are working to recover physically and emotionally. We were able to hug and kiss our children again and tell them how much we love them another day. Six seconds almost took that away.

So, for now, I’m making a vow to cherish every single second I have on this earth; the good, bad, and ugly. You never know when the wrong 6 seconds will happen. 6 seconds almost turned into forever.