I could tell you everything about that day. What I was wearing, the speed of the car, or the exact time it happened. I remember all of it so clearly. The loud screech of metal against road. Looking through the windshield and seeing the road on the top and the sky on the bottom. The feeling of my arm being caught under the car as it’s rolling on its side. But most of all, the calming sight of the green grass and big trees that stretched out to the right of the highway and knowing, I’m alive.

Everybody thinks, “It won’t happen to me.” At least, that’s what I had always thought. We left around lunchtime on a Friday. Mom picked us up from school, me, my brother, and my sister, in Dad’s Hyundai Santa Fe even though we usually take the Expedition. The car was packed completely with our bags, a cooler, and some road trip CD’s my mom put together. Our destination? Peoria, Illinois. It was my great-grandma’s 100th birthday, and there was going to be a party to celebrate the next day. The car ride wasn’t really something I was dreading. Eight hours can get long, but we were used to it. My dad wasn’t coming with because he had to work, which meant I got to sit in the front. We were taking a new route this time. It was one that my aunt suggested, but I don’t really remember why. This one took us into Iowa a little bit.

The trip was going fine. We were passing a lot of very small towns, the kind that have two bars and a post office. There were lots and lots of hills, trees, and fields. It was spring, and I specifically remember that the smell of lilac kept drifting through the car. I was listening to my iPod. It was so peaceful.

My mom asked my sister to get her a Coke from the cooler. Kate had to unbuckle to reach and grab it. Now, to this day I don’t know why Kate did this. But, before she gave mom the Coke she buckled again. Now, think of how easy it would have been to just hand her the drink real quick, and then sit back down. But, that’s not what she did. She sat back down, buckled, and held out the Coke for my mom. When my mom put her arm back, she couldn’t find it with her hand, so she turned her head to look. When she turned, her hand must have taken the wheel over a little, because when she looked up, we were drifting into the other lane. When she cranked the wheel back over, she over corrected. So, we swerved hard to the left. When she tried to fix that, we swerved hard to the right, and then left again. It was too much on the car, and we rolled three times.

You know, it’s actually kind of funny. “Jesus, Take the Wheel” by Carrie Underwood was playing on my iPod right as all of this happened. Ironic, I know. But, the music was interrupted by the horrible sound I remember: the screech of metal against road. It surrounded me. It was deafening.

For a split second I actually thought to myself, “This is it; I’m dying.” But that thought left quickly. It was then that I felt a pulling, ripping pain in my arm. I had to fight to pull it back into the car. All I could do was be still and wait. Wait for it to stop.
Thankfully, we landed right side up. One more roll and we could’ve gone over a hill that was on the other side of the highway. Then I heard my mom screaming to get out of the car because a semi was coming and she didn’t know if it had time to stop or move over. Everybody was able to unbuckle and get out except for me. My door was smashed in. The handle was useless. I yelled for my mom that I couldn’t get out. She ran over to me, and in one motion, pulls me completely through the window. It must’ve been adrenaline.
The road hits my feet. I’m barefoot. I ran over to the shoulder to my brother and sister. It’s so gravely, but I don’t feel a thing. I turn around to look at our car. The windshield and front two windows were shattered. One of the tires popped. It’s all scratched and scraped up. We just stand there gaping at it. I’m overcome with emotion. I’m scared out of my mind. Then my brother asks me something I really wasn’t expecting. He asks, “Ashley, how can this be God’s plan for us?” I had absolutely no idea how to respond. Then I’m angry. I was angry at God. Isn’t God watching over us? Doesn’t he protect us? I’m so confused I just tell Brett, “I don’t know.”
My sister screams, “Ashley! Your hand!” I look down, and it hits me—the pain. The top of my hand is completely red with blood and I have a bad road rash on my wrist. Shards of glass broke skin all over my forearm. There’s another laceration on my upper right arm by my tricep. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know if anything was broken. I helplessly clutched my right arm to my chest, trying not to move it. I examined my family. I was definitely the most injured. Everybody else had tiny cuts or seatbelt bruises. In a way I was glad. I felt like I could handle me being injured, that I would be okay. But I didn’t think I could handle worrying about a sibling or my mom.
There was an older woman who had pulled over and had begun to walk towards us. She pulled us all into a gentle hug, helped us to sit down, and then said “Just pray,” in the softest, most reassuring voice I had ever heard. I stared off down the green hill that was in front of me. It was so calming, and a feeling of relief came over me. Tears came to my eyes as it hit me that what just happened was a miracle—a blessing.
I heard voices behind me. “I know CPR! Does anybody need CPR here?” “I’m calling 911 right now.” “I’m an off-duty cop. Is everyone alright?” It was amazing. Within minutes people were pulled over and tried to help in any way they could. Then the EMTs showed up. I was pulled away from the woman. I noticed I got blood on her shirt, but I didn’t have time to tell her I was sorry. We were sitting, lined up on the shoulder facing the valley. They must’ve asked me my name, birthday, and the date at least 20 times. I remembered all of it, which was good. So, the questions became rather annoying. It didn’t help that my paramedic spit when he talked. After he gave me temporary gauze for my wounds, I was loaded up onto a gurney. My sister and I were put in the same ambulance. Her gurney was on the floor and my gurney was on the left bench.
The gurney was awful. I couldn’t move anything because they didn’t know if I had any broken bones, or if I injured my spine. I was told not to talk, laugh, cough, or cry. And it was so hard not to cry. During this ambulance ride, I had time to think. What could’ve happened if Kate didn’t buckle up again? What could’ve happened if we rolled one more time? What could’ve happened if my mom never asked for a Coke?
The assistant in the ambulance asked me if anything else hurt besides my arm. I thought about it, and the top of my head actually hurt a lot. He examined my scalp and told me I had two abrasions on the top of my head. Now, since he got me thinking about it, I started feeling all of the pain. I started to ache everywhere. And the gurney wasn’t exactly comfortable. The worst was my hand. Since none of the blood was washed off before they put on the gauze, it started to get sticky. And since it was near my face, sitting on my chest, just the sight of it made me sick with worry. I could feel the rocks, dirt, and glass sprinkled all over it—all over me.
We arrived at the hospital in some small town in Iowa. I couldn’t see much since I was looking up and I wasn’t allowed to move my head. I was wheeled into the ER and immediately I had gotten one of those wrist bands. Nurses were talking about where I was hurt. Tears were streaming down my face. I was nervous. They were talking about me, and I didn’t know what was going to happen next. I was mostly scared to look at my wounds when they removed the bandages.
My nurses explained the plan. I had to wait for my brother and sister to be done with x-rays before it was my turn. While we waited, they were going to take off my bandages and clean out the injuries.
First they cleaned out the cuts on my head with a wet washcloth, it only stung a little. Then they picked some glass out of my arm and dabbed at my road rash. Then it came to my hand. First they had me soak it in warm water. It was soothing and it felt good to get most of the blood washed off. When it was all rinsed away, it turns out there was only one big laceration between my first and second knuckle on my hand. I took my hand out of the water, and there was still glass and dirt in it. The nurse held a spray bottle that contained some type of cleaning solution. She said she’ll spray it on my hand and it will help it heal faster and it cleans it out faster. Then she called my brother into the room. He was done with x-rays and a glass shower. She told him to hold my hand because what she was about to spray me with would sting very, very badly. I took my brothers hand and we’re almost laughing because of how silly this was. I’m thinking, Come on, it can’t be that bad.
Boy was I wrong.
The second the spray hit my hand, it took everything in me not to scream bloody murder. My hand was on fire, the pain was tremendous. Tears were streaming down my face, I was choking up. Surely, this was the worst pain I have ever endured in my life. I clenched my teeth; I gripped my brother’s hand so hard. I could tell he wanted to wriggle his hand free and leave, but he knew I needed him, so he just sucked it up.
Finally it stopped. The sting started to let up. I tried to calm myself down. I released my brother’s hand. The nurse told me they were going to pick out some more glass and then put on the butterfly tape stitches and that would be wrapped with gauze. I felt a lot better once my wounds were clean. It felt good knowing all I had to do now was heal. I lay on the gurney for about five more hours. Mom came in to tell me that everyone’s phone survived but mine. Great. My iPod was okay, and sadly my homework was also okay. I thought about the woman who helped me, and how I didn’t even get her name. I sort of think of this woman as our angel. I kind of wished she was with me right now.
I was wheeled into the x-ray room. It was small, dimly lit, and had dark tan walls. There was big machinery in the middle of the room which was the x-ray equipment. It was almost intimidating. A couple of nurses set my gurney on a metal table on the right side of the room and helped me to sit up. There was gravel and glass all over my back and the gurney. A lot of my hair had fallen out due to shock and stress. I had been laying on all of it the whole time.
After x-rays, I was free to walk around. I was given a pair of blue hospital socks with grips on the bottom and a blanket. I was guided to another room where my family was watching Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets on ABC Family. I moved slowly, but I made it to a chair and sat down. I closed my eyes. Mom told me papa was going to pick us up and that he’d be here in a couple of hours. My first thought? I did NOT want to get in a car. But I had already been in the hospital for 7 and a half hours. I was ready to leave. I used my mom’s phone to call Connor, my boyfriend. I missed him and I figured I better let him know what happened. I tried to explain it without crying, but I couldn’t. After a little while I was able to find the words.
Papa finally came with his cousin in the passenger seat for company, and reluctantly, we loaded into the car. Right before my nurse shut the door she looked at me. She looked me right in the eyes and said, “Ashley, you are so strong. I don’t know why God lets bad things happen to good people, but your family is truly blessed and this is one of his great miracles.” She gave me a gentle hug as I thanked her a million times. I couldn’t imagine any other woman being a greater nurse and friend than she had been to me that night. As the car took off, I said a quick prayer to myself that God would once again be with us on our two hour trip the rest of the way to Peoria. The car was silent. I was still shaking from being in shock. Then I heard my mom. Hearing your mom cry is possibly one of the worse sounds in the world. I couldn’t possibly imagine the horrible guilt she must’ve been feeling. I wanted to say something, anything to comfort her, but I didn’t have the energy. I could only hold her hand, and, of course, this made her cry harder.
My mind was swirling. The flashbacks started. I was painfully sore. As I slowly drifted to sleep, I thought about how badly I wanted to go back in time and not let any of this happen. But I’m alive. I’m alive and I’m blessed.
It’s almost two years later and the same flashbacks continue to haunt me. You can ask me about my scars, and my hand is fully functional, nothing was ever broken. But they did forget a piece of leather interior in my hand and you can see it. It still amazes me and my family that we were able to walk away with merely cuts and bruises, and we thank God every day that we did.
And in case you were wondering: I was wearing Khaki shorts and an American Eagle t-shirt, the car was going 67 miles per hour, the time was 5:14 p.m.