Lucky?

 Chapter 3

I see you guilt. Creeping in. Whispering your little threats inside my mind as I write. Hovering to ensure I get the details just right. Including the inner faults that led to this fate. You don't need to shadow me. I'll share my secret. 

What's the one thing as a mother you are not supposed to say?

The answer:

I wanted a break. A little time to myself. 

That's what started this whole thing. Mommy was eager to have a moment of silence so she manipulatively pushed her family out the door. In my defense I did my part that evening. I made spaghetti and meatballs. Actual meatballs not meat sauce like usual per my kids request. I cleaned the house... Laundry, dishes, floors,ect. 

We had recently rescued a dog named Lucky that we got during a St. Patrick's Day special for fifteen dollars. (We considered naming her Fifteen but that wouldn't roll off the tongue like Lucky).

As adorable as our German Shepard was she had an issue with bathroom etiquette. Leaving us yet another mess to clean on the carpet earlier that day. During dinner my husband decided to take Lucky and our Beagle who is trained for an evening walk before bed. Requesting the company of our son to assist it immediately activated our daughter's FOMO. 

Instantly, I felt giddy with the thought of having the house to myself for a little while, so I pushed the idea of letting her go along when my husband suggested she should sit this one out. (And ruin my ME TIME! Absolutely Not!)

Moments later two dogs, a preteen, a daddy and a little girl in a yellow dress was out the door. Meanwhile I was left in silence. 

Wonderful. Beautiful. Silence. 

Oh how I missed thee.

The celebration short lived as the silence was sliced by a banging on the front door. Couldn't even get it all the way open before my son screams to me in sheer horror that MY DAUGHTER WAS HIT BY A CAR!

That statement ringed on repeat in my brain as I tried to compute what I just heard. Only coming to at the sight of my son melting down. His screams was unlike any sound I ever heard out of his mouth. Repeating over and over again in between breaths and tears as he fell to the ground that the girl GOT HIT BY A CAR!!

Finally finding my voice I asked where were they at? 

Before he could answer my husband walks through the door carrying our bloody little girl. 

Now when you are experiencing trauma in real time you do not notice everything at once. At least for me. I believe my brain processes in doses to prevent my heart from exploding. My first observation was the dress. When she left she wore bright yellow and now she returns drowned in chilling red as more and more fabric gets covered from the open gash in the middle of her forehead. Blood pours out so consistently that I could barely make out her facial features. I was sure we were witnessing her final moments. 

Then the shock wore off and mommy mode kicked in. As my husband place her on the couch I ask "DID  YOU CALL THE POLICE?!" He replies he couldn't on the account that he left his phone at home. 

"IT ALL HAPPENED SO FAST. WE WERE CROSSING THE STREET AND OUT OF NOWHERE THIS CAR CAME FLYING BY. DIDN'T EVEN STOP JUST HIT HER AND KEPT GOING! I DIDN'T KNOW WHAT TO DO. I COULDN'T LEAVE HER IN THE MIDDLE OF THE STREET LIKE THAT SO I BROUGHT HER TO YOU!!"

TO ME.

Of course. 

A problem is created on your watch and once again you pressure me to solve it. Now I'm angry. I'm scared. I'm in shock. Mainly scared.

Because I have to get this right. I have to. If I mess this up she dies. From the looks of her stillness with the exception of the blood floating out of her forehead. I don't have much time. 

My husband is checked out. You can see it in his eyes. He's so shaken up his brain has abandoned him. He holds her as if letting go would take her away from us. 

I dial 911. Here's the thing. Either my mind was so messed up or calling for help has changed. I dialed those numbers and got NOTHING!

No voice on the receiver, no ring. It was just silent. As if I didn't dial the number at all. The silence felt like forever so I hung up and tried again. SAME RESULT!

NOW I'M PANICKING! 

If I can't get ahold of help how can I save her? 

I have to save her! 

I do! 

I say FUCK IT! And demand my husband get her in the car. He acts swiftly as he moves her, my son moves too still crying asking questions like: Is she about to die? 

When I tell you hearing your child say those words while watching your other child bleed out, so still staring at you in fear while you feel hopeless but trying to hide it. Is grounds for a mental crack. It breaks you. Do not recommend it. 

As everyone settles in the car I reach for the door handle but my legs give out and fall to the ground. Right in my carport my emotions take over and I break down in tears screaming for help as the feeling of failure overcome me.

I felt as if driving to the hospital ourselves is a bad idea. What if we lose her during the ride. 

My neighbor hearing all the commotion I'm assuming materialize out of nowhere. She sits besides me on the ground telling me to calm down, to breathe, to relax and call the cops. I scream in between breaths that I've tried twice!

 She demands I try again. And I did.

Third time's the charm I guess because finally I get an answer. It wasn't long before the ambulance arrive and I'm in that vehicle with my daughter rushing to Children's Hospital. 

Chapter 4