My phone buzzed at 9:39 p.m. It was a frantic call from my daughter’s friend. “Ella was hit by a car!” I had her repeat it four times, struggling to comprehend the gravity of her words, which felt foreign, almost like a different language.
We were in the city, enjoying a night out—my husband and I had just dropped off our 16-year-old daughter and her friends at a concert. We were about to celebrate our anniversary with a romantic dinner for two when everything changed.
Fortunately, we were only a short distance from the scene. As we rushed to the location, we saw emergency vehicles already there, restoring order. Our daughter was alive—stunned, hurt, and bleeding, but alive.
Amid the chaos, my husband urged me to get the other girls home. Reluctantly, I complied. I couldn’t leave them alone in the city, so I switched into autopilot, propelled by adrenaline. I hailed a cab and took an hour-and-a-half train ride, all while my cell phone was dead, cutting me off from my husband and the outside world. My mind raced with terrifying possibilities.
Despite seeing Ella sitting up and speaking, dark thoughts invaded my mind. “What if she has serious internal injuries? What if she doesn’t make it? How could I go on without my child?” Yet, a voice of reason would occasionally cut through the fear: “No, she’s okay. She’s talking. She’s going to be fine.” But the fear would creep back in, tormenting me for over two agonizing hours.
During the train ride, I remembered a Novena my mother had given me years ago. I pulled it out of my wallet and recited it repeatedly, clinging to hope as I prayed for my little girl’s safety.
When I finally reached the hospital in Manhattan, my heart raced as I stepped into the ICU. Machines beeped around Ella, and I flinched at each sound, watching her vitals on the monitor. Any fluctuation sent me rushing to the nurses for reassurance. I was in a state of sheer panic, struggling to communicate, my thoughts muddled. The weight of fear engulfed me.
The first hours were a blur, shrouded in confusion. I questioned everything, terrified to ask about her condition, fearing the truth. My heart raced for a full day, every nerve on edge. I felt sick, shaking, and in disbelief that this was happening.
As the night went on, details emerged slowly, each one sending a fresh wave of dread through me. Ella had been hit by a car going 40 miles per hour, yet somehow she was incredibly fortunate. The doctors were astonished by the minimal damage—no broken bones, but she had some brain contusions and needed stitches on her scalp.
Angels were truly working overtime that night. I felt an immense sense of gratitude for her survival. Though the memory of that phone call still lingers, it’s not as vivid as it once was. I’ve learned to let go of the “what ifs” that haunted me.
In the past two weeks, I’ve gained a deeper appreciation for life and my daughter’s resilience. I’ve come to realize the importance of being present and compassionate toward others. Each day is a gift, and everything can change in an instant.
I’m incredibly thankful that Ella emerged from this ordeal relatively unscathed, save for a slight limp—a reminder of how close we came to losing her. I feel like the luckiest mother in the world now, holding her a little closer and cherishing every moment. It truly takes just a blink of an eye for everything to shift.
If you’re interested in exploring more about pregnancy and home insemination, check out this insightful post on how to use an at-home insemination kit. You can also find valuable information on donor insemination from The American Pregnancy Association, which is a great resource for those looking to start a family.
In summary, that fateful night taught me invaluable lessons about gratitude, resilience, and the fragility of life. It’s a reminder to appreciate the present and to never take a moment for granted.
Leave a Reply