The whup, whup of the medivac helicopter matched the beat of blood, pulsing in my ears. I couldn’t breathe. My hands were clenched in front of me. A position of prayer, I think. A blur. Help, Jesus.
They were talking to him in his shredded blue Grand “Was.” He was alive, but he looked dazed, moving in slow motion, or else I was seeing in slow motion.
The officer kept asking me stupid questions, keeping me from running to the car. I answered with one part of my brain as the rest of my soul and mind searched the accident scene for hope that my boy was going to be okay.
*********************
It was a long journey, but he survived. That was one of those grey moments of life, though, when peace and ease are exchanged in a moment for panic and desperate prayers.
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