Life, Legacy, and Divine Intervention

Picture it. Spring break, North Carolina, 2021. A neurotic, over-prepared Mom decides to take her 17 year old on an adventure to her homeland. Central New York. It was time. The city this Mom grew up in was rich with culture, history, and memories. All of which this Mom wanted to share while she still could. But, as with any epic road trip, things did not go smoothly. Plans had to be pushed back, twice. And, this Mom had to convince the teen that all would be fine, and the trip would happen in due time. That Mom, internally screaming and live tweeting with anxiety, was me. And, the adventure went something like this:

I’d reserved a rental car to be picked up on a Tuesday. The car rental place was at a small airport, no longer used by commercial airlines. So, on that Tuesday, I was waiting for my roommate to get home from work to drop me off, so I didn’t have to leave my car at the airport. No fees, but the area of town wasn’t ideal. Anyway, roommate arrives home. I called the car rental place to be sure everything was ready for my arrival. “Trust, but verify” is just who I am. Roommate (RM) performs the symbolic and comfort female ritual of removing her bra while I speak with the car rental agent on the phone. As I gave 17 a cheesy smile of excitement, the agent gave me the dreaded news. “I’m so sorry, Ma’am. We had several emergency rentals called in by their insurance agents, and we’ve run out of cars.” “I’m sorry?” I said, thinking this can’t possibly be true. “Yes, Ma’am. I’m terribly sorry. I’ve actually been calling the other locations to find a suitable replacement for you, but am having no luck.”

Deafening silence takes over the conversation as my expression changes from excitement to disbelief.

And, I’m breathing. Not very well, but I’m breathing. “Just breathe” is one of my many internal reminders. 17 is looking at me with that face no parent ever wants to see. “Yes, we’re still taking this trip. I’ll figure it out,” I assure him. “Ma’am? Are you still there?” The agent asked. “Still here.” I said. “Just waiting for you to resolve this.” Now, I’ve worked with people my entire life. So, I know it’s never the “fault” of the person responsible for fixing it, so I always try to keep my cool when life gets in the way of my plans. I. Try. SO. Hard!

Well, she did resolve the situation. She reserved a car for me the following morning. So, I told RM she could change out of her work clothes because we wouldn’t have a car until the morning.

In all fairness, I’d originally planned to leave early Wednesday morning. However, after weighing the pros and cons, and making the mistake of running it by 17, we’d decided to break up the 11 hour car ride by leaving Tuesday evening, getting a motel room along the way, then finish up the drive on Wednesday. Arrive early enough to be able to do more than check into the hotel and crash. Picking up the car on Tuesday was to ensure I could leave in the morning when I wanted to. But, okay. Fine.We’d get the car when they open at 0800. We were already packed and ready to go, so not a huge deal. Closer to the original plan, anyway.

Wednesday morning I requested a ride-share to the airport. The driver was about a mile away when I received a call from the car rental place. I assumed they were calling to confirm my rental because I was running a bit behind. No such luck. “Would you be able to push back your reservation until like 9:30? Or, actually 10:00 would be better. We have cars coming in, but none of them are here yet.”

“Are you effing kidding me?!?!” Said my internal voice.

Anxiety level was at *Red Alert! Evacuate the Area, Immediately!* So, the fed up me takes over.. “Tell ya what. Why don’t you call me when my car is ready? I can keep myself busy (angry tweeting) until then.” Fed up, but delivered in a completely believable understanding tone. “Yes, Ma’am. I can definitely do that. I really apologize, but appreciate your patience. I’ll call as soon as your car is ready.” End call. Oh, did I forget to mention that most of that call was on speaker so that I could cancel the ride-share driver who was right around the corner? Yeah. $5 fee to cancel that ride.

And, so.. we waited. 17 was mostly cool about the whole thing. Although it happens more often than not, I’m genuinely surprised each time plans go awry. I’m typically a realist, but when it comes to a once in a lifetime opportunity, I’m a kid in a candy store, without exception. That includes being devastated when the candy store doesn’t have any Caramelos or Sour Patch Kids..

At around 0930, we’d reached our patience limit and decided to pack up my car, drive on over, and wait there. Right there in front of them, where our side eye could not be avoided. Passive-aggressive, sure. I’ve never claimed to be flawless. But, our thoughts must have reached them loudly and quite clearly, because as we headed to my car, they called to let me know my car was ready. So, off we went to pick up the rental and FINALLY begin this anticipated adventure!

The checkout process was quick and seamless. The “mea culpa” discount was nice, as well. Heading out to the cars, I clicked the key fob unlock button and found that the rental was parked directly in front of where I’d parked my car. With our packed bags and THE bag ‘o snacks and drinks, a short distance between the two cars was a welcomed blessing. We transferred out of stuff and got in the car, and I asked 17 to hand me the car manual from the glove compartment. “There isn’t one.” He said. This was a new Ford sedan. I drive a 2001 Camry with a functional cigarette lighter, a broken CD player, and a cassette deck. I’m still getting used to key-less driving, and cameras for the losers (me) who can’t drive in reverse. So, I had 17 Google the car to find the lights, the gear shift, and various doohickey thingamabobs for convenience. It was around 1030, we were ready to roll, and began the journey neither of us will ever forget.

The Triad in North Carolina to Central New York is a drive I’d taken solo dozens of times over the years. It had been a while, but I was excited to have my best travel buddy with me. The last time I’d taken him to NY was in 2005. We’d flown there and back. That was for a family reunion. My family used to have those regularly, for fun. Since my Dad passed away in 2007, “reunions” are now anniversary parties, weddings, and funerals. I’ve found this to be true for many of the people I know. But, I digress. Just 17 and me, on the road. Singing our favorite songs at the top of our lungs. Me, pointing out various places I’ve stopped, and how much has changed over the years. Inevitably, 17 falls asleep in the passenger seat. And, so I drive, and reminisce to myself.

Somewhere in Virginia, the smooth trip with beautiful scenery, instantly changed to a horrific scene. 17 was barely awake when I gasped and hit my brakes. Right in front of us, a dump truck clipped the front of a little compact car, as the truck driver was changing lanes. This sent the car spinning across both lanes of the highway, until rolling off to the side of the left lane. Luckily, the Northbound part of the highway was about 75 feet below the Southbound lanes. So, there was a hill of huge rocks separating the two. The truck driver pulled over in front of the car, and when both vehicles were stopped, I put my hazard lights on, drove over, and parked behind the car. I asked 17 if he was okay, and without hesitation he said “Oh my God, Mom! I’m fine! You have to go help them!”

I’ve worn many hats in my life, including EMS. As has 17’s Dad. It’s been a while, but instinct and training kicks in, and I told 17 to “call 911 and tell them you’re reporting a motor vehicle collision and need emergency medical response. Then bring the phone to me and put it on speaker.” As I approached the tiny car, I saw the damage of the impact. I prepared myself for the worst, and looked back at 17 and held up my hand, signaling him to stay where he was. He did. When I reached the driver’s door, the window was mostly in pieces on the ground. The door handle was missing. The front and rear doors were so smashed in, I wasn’t sure they could be opened. But, I reached through the smashed window to try, and was able to get her door open. I began talking with her, to assess her level of consciousness. I reached across her to shift the car into park. And did a quick head to toe glance as we spoke. I waved at 17 to come with the phone. He did. I spoke with the dispatcher, relayed all the details of importance. Miraculously, this sweet woman was alert & oriented, but obviously shaken up. She had no obvious signs of physical trauma, but complained of pain in her shoulder and her head. *”Complained” isn’t a word of judgement, I swear. It’s just symptoms she reported.

I’m holding this woman’s hand, talking with the emergency communicator on the phone that my 17 year old child is holding near my face. This was surreal. The phone call ended, and I asked 17 to check in with the driver of the truck, who appeared concerned, but uninjured. He said he was fine. This woman, realizing the severity of what just happened, began to cry. I did my best to keep her still, but she looked at all the cars driving by…zooming by.

The fire department rescue truck and ambulance arrived, along with law enforcement. I told the woman it was her lucky day because the handsome firemen were going to come and rescue her. She chuckled. As I braced myself to stand, she called my name and reached her hand up to my face. She burst into tears as she said “I can’t believe you stopped to help me. Thank you so much for stopping.” Tears streamed down my cheek as I responded with absolute clarity “Don’t thank me, sweetheart. Thank God. He sent me, and made darn sure I was here when I needed to be.” We exchanged teary smiles of gratitude, and I got out of the way so the EMTs could get to her, passed on my notes, and met 17 back at the car.

17 and I both took a deep breath, looked at each other, and laughed. I made sure he was okay because it was a very traumatic event to witness. We both agreed it was time to stop for something to eat & drink. One of the firemen came up and said he’d hold traffic when we were ready to go. I thanked him and he got us back on the road. For a few miles, anyway. We got off the highway and stopped at the first drive-thru place we could find. After getting our food and drink, I pulled into a parking spot. I had far too much adrenaline still running through me to drive, and needed a few moments of calm. After finishing his quesadilla, 17 said “Holy crap, Mom! I can’t believe that lady was okay. That truck hit her so hard!” It wasn’t an exaggeration. It was like watching a pinball spinning and bouncing back and forth, then getting stuck along the edge. I asked him again how it was sitting with him, and he said he was fine. I told him I was really impressed with the way he handled himself. He stayed calm, followed directions without any teenage backtalk, and did everything exactly right. He jokingly said “yeah, now I understand that whole scene safety thing you and Dad always talk about. Dang!” I snickered, then said his name and made sure he heard what I said. “Mom. That makes me feel really good, and I’m glad I did a good job. But, I’m starting to feel like we were supposed to be there. Like all the things that went wrong for us, happened so we could do something right.”

I reached across the center console for a side hug, the only approved touch for a 17 year old, apparently. But, he grabbed me with both arms this time. “I have never been more proud of you than I am right now.” I said, softly, in his ear. “Girl, same.” He said as he pulled away and wiped his own tears. “Can we go now??” he said with a fresh perspective. I smiled, and exclaimed “WE RIDE!”