My phone buzzed at 9:39 PM. It was my daughter’s friend, her voice trembling. “Emma was hit by a car!” I made her repeat it four times, struggling to comprehend the gravity of her words—it felt like a foreign language.
It was a night out in the city. My daughter Emma, her two friends, my husband Mark, and I had just dropped the girls off at a concert. Mark and I were off to enjoy a romantic anniversary dinner. We were gearing up to meet the girls when everything spiraled out of control.
Fortunately, we were just a few blocks away. As we rushed to the scene, emergency vehicles were already tending to her. To my relief, she was alive—hurt and dazed, but alive.
Amid the chaos, Mark shouted at me to take the other girls home. I hesitated but understood the importance of getting them away from the horror. I slipped into autopilot, overwhelmed yet focused, fueled by sheer adrenaline.
Hailing a cab, enduring a lengthy train ride, and facing dead cell phones, I was cut off from everyone—especially Mark. The uncertainty gnawed at me. What could have happened?
Despite seeing Emma, sitting up and speaking, dark thoughts invaded my mind. “What if she has internal injuries? What if I lose her? How could I possibly go home without my child?” Sensible thoughts would counter, “No, she’s talking, she’s going to be okay.” But the fear was relentless, and for over two hours, I battled my panic.
Through the turmoil, I remembered a Novena my mother had given me years ago. I pulled it from my wallet, worn and creased. I read it repeatedly, clinging to hope for my daughter’s safety, praying fervently for her life.
Finally, I arrived at the hospital in Manhattan. There she was in the ICU, machines surrounding her, and each beep sent my heart racing. I focused on her vitals, seeking reassurance from the staff with every slight fluctuation.
Fear consumed me. I was on autopilot, making erratic decisions, and my mind swirled in a fog. I questioned reality, terrified of asking for confirmation of her condition, afraid to uncover the truth.
For 24 hours, my heart raced uncontrollably. Every nerve in my body was on edge. I could hardly breathe, shaking from the weight of it all.
As details emerged, I learned she had been struck by a car going 40 miles per hour. The doctors were astonished by her survival—a miracle, they said. She had sustained minimal injuries: no broken bones, a potential brain bleed, some bruises, and stitches on her scalp.
That night, it felt like angels were working overtime. I felt blessed. As the days passed, the sound of my daughter’s friend’s voice faded, though I’d never forget the message it carried. I could finally close my eyes without picturing Emma being tossed through the air after the impact.
I’ve learned so much in these past two weeks. I’ve become more appreciative of life, recognizing my daughter’s strength and my own. I understand the importance of patience and being present. I’ve realized that “normal” is a treasure, and we must show compassion to everyone.
Every day is a gift, one that can change in an instant. I’m grateful that Emma emerged from this ordeal with just a limp—a small reminder of how fragile life can be. I cherish every moment with her, knowing all it takes is a single blink for everything to change.
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In summary, life is unpredictable, and gratitude shines brightest in the face of adversity. Cherishing our loved ones becomes paramount in the blink of an eye.