Shock. The way you feel when you know that there is nothing you can do. You can sit and watch, as your life is torn apart. But what will that help?

Utter and complete shock is the only words I can use to describe that day. The day that was suppose to be "normal". But what does normal even mean anymore?

I sat in the passenger seat of the car, looking at the rain that covers Washington most of the year. I sat watching the rain, thinking how beautiful simple things are. I listen to the sounds of the radio clicking as it changed channels, trying to match something that would come even close to the sound of rain hitting my window. Nothing. Not even close.

That’s when it happened, I looked at my frustrated mother. She hates it when I change the channels. But her face was shadowed out by a bright light heading straight towards me. The light that belonged to a driver who sped out of control, the light of the car that sped furiously into mine. Like there was nothing better for that car to do but wham itself into our cars helpless exterior. Shock. That’s what I felt.

I woke up in a bright room, full of people with bright coats. It hurt my eyes, so I shut them. Afraid of what was coming next. But someone saw. They grabbed my hand, I winced. They let go. I opened my eyes. These simple gestures hurt to do, I felt 100 years old. I was in an accident they explained, slammed into a tree, flying out of a car. I remembered. It hurt. Everything hurt. I looked more closely, bruises up and down my arms, my leg up in a cast.

I mumbled words but I realized there was a tube in my throat. They told me I had been in a coma for a day. But I wasn’t listening. I could only think of one word. One word I had used since I was breathed into existence. Mom.

The news didn’t hurt as much. The impact was on my side, not hers. She was in another room, waiting for news that I was okay. When she came in, I wanted to cry. We use to have nothing in common, but now we have bruises, black eyes, broken arms. That is something to bond over right?

She came over, slowly, like she understood my pain. I was glad, i didn’t think anyone would understand my pain. She put her hand in mine as my doctor explained it was a miracle we were alive, I looked at my moms hand in mine. I thought of the accident that had just taken place. I thought of the relationship we use to share, a long while ago. Before life got hard and teenage habits set in. But in that moment I knew, it must be God giving me a second chance. A accidental miracle. Or maybe, one that has been planned all along.