In slow motion we watch a truck spin out of control on the highway. It hits the guard rail and bounces. Spinning into the middle of the highway, into oncoming traffic.
As soon as it starts to spin, I slow. My girl beside me starts to cry. As the truck comes to a stop in front of us, so do we. I left her there, sobbing and ran to the boy climbing out the truck.
Are you okay? Are you hurt?
I tell him to call 911 and go back to my girl. A full-blown panic attack, she clings to me. I call her father. I tell him nothing. Just sit with her.
I need you to sit with her. I have to go.
I stand with him while he talks to 911.
I stand with him while he calls his mom.
I stand with him while he calls his soccer coach.
I stand with him while he talks to the state trooper.
I stand with him, shivering.
I ask his name. Omar
I ask him how old he is. Sixteen.
I ask him if he had his seat belt on. Yes.
I remind him not to text and drive. No.
I ask him if his mom is okay. Yes.
I ask him about his soccer team. Coach is coming.
We wait together. Standing in the freezing rain.
We shiver together.
We answer the state troopers questions together.
Then we get into my car and sit together. Out of the icy cold. And we wait.
I leave him there. With state troopers and a soccer coach. Flashing blue lights. A tow truck on the way.
Back in the car I tell my girl I'm sorry I left her. But I couldn't leave him alone. She tells me she didn't want me to leave him alone. Our hands reach and hold on tight.
I ask her why that upset her so much. I don't know.
I ask if it makes her think about her brother. Yes.
She keeps one hand fisted around her necklace with his fingerprint on it.
Together we cry.
Together we saw our Zac's death play out in front of eyes.
Instead of a tractor trailer, it was us.
Instead of a collision, I stopped.
Instead of sirens, it was hazard lights.
Instead a coroner, it was a soccer coach.
Instead of a knock on the door, it was a phone call. Mom, I'm okay.
Instead of being alone, we were with him.
Instead of dying, he lived to tell the tale.
Today we saw the death of our Zac, in slow motion. It left us sobbing and gasping, clinging to each other.
We are grateful that Omar was not alone today.
We are grateful that Omar's mom got to hear her son's voice today.
We are grateful that our other boys made it home safely today.
And we are very grateful that nobody died today.
