Monday, October 26, 2015
Crying while your child eats soup
We were looking for a place to eat lunch on the main boulevard in Urubamba. The first place was nice but was a buffet so we decided to check out the place across the street for better eats. Elise and the girls decided to walk and I was going to move the truck just across the street to the other parking lot. I was putting in my keys into the ignition and heard my wife screaming loudly and a blaring horn, my head looked up but my eyes were searching where to look and I see Zoe, my beautiful 7 year old, in front of a speeding car. My mind was trying to decipher what was going and all I see is Zoe flying horizontal as the car sped by.
It was beyond comprehension. It was all so fast and yet so frustratingly slow. The wife, in the passenger seat, of the speeding car rose to her knees looking over her seat to see what happened. My head jolted back to Elise and the kids who are standing on the double yellow line. Screaming from all sides started to fill my ears. Zoe was pulled from the lane in front of a speeding vehicle by Elise. Zoe's shoes were running down the side of the car. My family was nearly torn apart in a flash. Everybody was in shock. My family's hair was still flowing in the wind from the speeding car.
I was filled with anger that this could have happened. I was filled with joy that Zoe was still here. It was too much to handle all at once. I huddled my family and scurried them into the SUV. Elise started to ball and cry without control. Zoe thought she was in trouble and broke down too. Sierra looked stunned. My ears were ringing, ringing until I could not hear. We were all overwhelmed. Life, that precious gift that matters most was as thin as a hair before us all. We were nothing but a chance, a lucky grab, a lucky pull from tragedy.
For hours, our family released emotions, we are tired, exhausted, and fortunate it is over. This experience is hanging over us like a dark cloud. This had nothing to do with a trip abroad, it had everything to do with us and a street with cars. For some time we questioned ourselves, our choices and all of the those what ifs. The what ifs are like torture, unforgiving and vivid, and replaying without permission in my head.
How can you explain what it is like to you cry while your child eats soup? We all need to move on but the visions of seeing your daughter run over is a bit much to handle. We are lucky, we are so damn lucky.