“I assumed no one survived.”

It happened on August 2, 2022. An entire year has passed. I remember the day like it was yesterday–down to the clothes and shoes I had on. I had been at a work event in Irmo, almost an hour and a half from home, for 45 minutes. My phone rang. I look down to see my husband’s name–my husband who never calls when I’m on site working. My heart stopped.

I knew the instant I saw his name appear that something was wrong. I didn’t excuse myself from the room to answer. I didn’t even say “Hello?”. I answered the phone with “What’s wrong?” What I heard next crashed my entire world. Took my breath and stopped my heart all in one fell swoop.

“The kids have been in a wreck. The truck and trailer are in the woods on fire. That’s all I know.”

I dropped my phone. With shaking hands I picked back it up and said, “I’m on the way.” No idea where exactly I was even headed. But I was coming. I literally ran out of work with my phone and purse, announcing “There’s been a wreck. I have to go” on my way out the door. I left everything–computer, monitors, EVERYTHING.

The next phone call wasn’t much better. “Someone called me. They said the kids are out, but they’re all screaming and can’t find Grandaddy.” Phone service at the scene was absolutely terrible. And it’s impossible to get someone to answer a phone that burnt to a crisp inside a vehicle. Once I got a location, I called my sister and her boyfriend and one of our friends hoping they lived close. The wreck was in Georgia, and I had no clue where they all lived in relation to where the kids were. My GPS told me it would take me 2 hours and 20 minutes. When all you know is there’s been a fiery crash involving people you love, you want someone you know there. You need someone to at least tell you your kids are alive.

I spent nearly 45 minutes with my heart in my throat and tears in my eyes thinking how likely it was that I was never going to see my children alive again.

I made it. Everyone was alive, walking, and talking. Just minor cuts and bruises. The kids’ biggest concern was their burnt-up shoes and the full tank of diesel fuel they had just gotten. I don’t think I took a full breath or felt my heart beat again until I put my eyes and hands on my children. Thankfully no one told me how bad it actually was or sent any pictures of the truck. I would have lost it even more–if that was even possible.

In the time after I arrived, I met Sam and his daughter along with others who helped wrangle and catch the cattle that they turned loose from the trailer. I shook and thanked the man’s hand that saved my kids’ lives and had no idea what he had done. All I knew at the time was that he had helped. There was a news article written about the accident and how a good samaritan helped a family in need of a miracle. He was interviewed for the article. When I read it for the first time that night when I made it home safely with my children, I balled like a baby. It’s here if you want to read it.

One random night days after the accident, they both talked about it in more detail. Layne, my nephew, got out first. Harlynn couldn’t reach Sam to get pulled out. Huxley (7 years old at the time), instead of panicking being trapped inside a vehicle with flames in the cab, picked his sister up so that she could reach Same to get out. This kid put himself in harms way to help his sister to safety. When it was his turn, he realized his ankle was wrapped in the seatbelt. They all ran away from the vehicle, and didn’t know if/when Grandaddy made it out. I cried again, hearing them tell the story from their experience. It made sense to me then why they didn’t want to be apart from each other.

It was tough for a while afterwards. Harlynn cried every time she sat in her new car seat. There were nightmares. I didn’t let them ride with anyone other than me or their dad for weeks. When I finally let them ride with other people again, it was months before I felt like I could breathe while they were gone. They talked about the wreck. Harlynn was more open than Huxley. He didn’t like re-living it over and over. His words, not mine.

In the months following the accident, when we would pass one on the highway, they would say “I hope they had someone like Mr. Sam that stopped and helped them.” They’ll never forget his name, his face, or what he did for them. Neither will I.

I’ve hugged them tighter and loved them harder since that day. And I’ve thanked God every single day for a then-stranger named Sam and for saving them.