My Dad's Accident

My dad was in a car accident today. We were driving separately to a family party—my cousin Glenn’s 40th birthday party. He was calling me every five minutes or so to give me traffic updates and directions. It was comical, because I was jamming to the new Alanis Morrisette acoustic Jagged Little Pill and I was constantly lowering it to answer the phone. After a bunch of calls, I finally answered the phone with the phrase: “I think you’re phone stalking me, Dad.” In the next second, I wished I had never said those words.

He said he had been in an accident and his car was wrecked. My heart sunk. In a meek voice that didn’t sound like my own, I asked him if he was okay. He said he was and then told me where he was and said I would see him and the ambulance and fire truck. I started driving to him. Wishing that my car would move faster. Wishing that there were not 4 more exits before my exit. I began to panic. My dad’s definition of okay often involves smashed fingers and separated shoulders. I had worst-case scenario visions swirling in my head. I could think of nothing but getting to him. The tears started flowing and I tried not to speed. The regret sank in and I began to think that if we were in the car together, as we were supposed to be, this wouldn’t have happened.

I just wanted to get there and hug him. I called my sister, because I was in such a state that I couldn’t remember the intersection. He hadn’t called her yet and my mom was with her. I told her that I needed to talk, but that she couldn’t say anything. I wanted my dad to be able to tell my mom. I told her that I needed her to be rational and to help me focus, so that I could get there. She calmed me in a way only a sister can. She also told my mom. In the background, I heard my mom call my dad as my sister talked to me. Then I saw the exit. A few miles down the road, I saw his car. Thankfully, the ambulance and the fire trucks were gone, because I am not sure I would have ever been able to see that.

I parked my car. Got out. Ran to my dad. I hugged him and made sure he was okay. Aside for some scrapes on his chin and a nice air bag abrasion the length of his arm, he seemed fine. My dad, the protector, kept telling me he was okay and that I shouldn’t worry. On my way there, I had called the party, talked to my aunt—my dad’s sister—and sent the party into a bit of a panic. Glenn and his brother left the party to come and check on my dad and to report to my aunt that he was all right. The police were there, sweeping up the glass. I asked my dad what had happened. A car had turned in front of him. He was able to turn his car enough to spare the other vehicle the brunt of the accident. It could have been so much worse.

After the paperwork was complete, my dad went to check on the other driver again. He wanted to make sure that he didn't worry. I love my dad for that—for his selflessness and his courage. I love his heart.

We went on to the party. My aunt and I fussed over my dad, which drove him a little crazy. As a family, we all seemed to appreciate each other a little more today. The whole thing was scary as hell, but it ended up okay. I am extremely grateful for that.