coloring outside the lines since 2002 (original) (raw)

A Parent's Worst Nightmare

A girl was hit by a car in front of my house today.

A sickening sound echoed through the neighborhood that I will never forget. My husband called out that a kid had been hit and I ran. First, I looked around until I saw my daughter playing happily in the yard then continued my furious sprint to the road. My husband was calling 911 before I could tell him to.

She was about 11, maybe 12, sitting up right and screaming. The poor thing had lost her bladder on impact, soaking through her little shorts and down the pavement. Her colorful purse and its contents lay in the road. Blood drizzled down the side of her neck which the man who had been driving quickly wrapped with a cloth, holding her head in a static position. I heard later that it had been her ear that was bleeding.

I sat on the road beside her and offered my hand. She took it, tears and dirt staining her face. I wanted to comfort her like I would my own child, hug her and rub her back, but I knew better than to move her. Scrapes covered her elbow and shoulders. The tank top she had been wearing had not offered her much protection against the unforgiving blacktop.

I started to talk with her, using soft words to try to keep her calm.

"Everything's going to be fine honey. Your mom is coming."

"My legs hurt. I don't want to be paralyzed," she cried.

"Oh sweetie, you're not paralyzed. I can see your toes moving. See?"

She nodded, wiggling her toes a bit more to assure herself.

"What's you name sweetie?"

She brightened for a moment, stopped sobbing. "Heather."

"Hi Heather, my name's Lisa."

I was about to ask her what kind of music she liked when her parents pulled up. They jumped out, barefoot and flushed with panic. I moved out of the way to give her mother room to get to her. There was a bunch of crying and yelling followed by more commotion as the ambulance pulled up.

My family and I, along with the rest of our neighbors, stood in a line down the roadside eager to help if needed.

I overheard Heather's mom telling her husband that she needed shoes to ride in the ambulance and get into the hospital. I assessed her feet - about my size - and ran to her.

"What size shoe do you wear?"

She had to think before answering, her mind obviously not working as well during such a crisis. "Uh... 6, 6 and a half."

"Perfect. I'll be right back."

I ran into the house and grabbed my favorite sandals: comfortable, practical, and size 6 and a half.

When I returned and gave them to her she gushed.

"Thank you. You rock! I owe you."

"No you don't," I said and let her get back to her daughter.

In minutes the EMTs had her on the stretcher and in the ambulance. She was off to the hospital to get patched up.

Nerves were frayed. We sighed and tried to relax again. I made sure to tell my daughter that what had happened to Heather was the reason why we look both ways before crossing a street. I had just witnessed a parent's worst nightmare and prayed silently that I would never have to be in the same position as Heather's mother.

Heather should be just fine. I hope that she'll be able to enjoy the fourth with her family and not be stuck in the hospital. I also hope that her mother stops by when things get back to normal to let us know how she is doing.