November
1984, in a cold, bone chilling mist, midnight watch began.
Our
first call would be my last as an active police officer. My final
assignment,
a disturbance call at the city's oldest housing project.
As
we approached the building, a woman shouted from above,
"They're
throwin' empty beer bottles from the 3rd floor, see there,
she
said, pointing, look at all that broken glass." Our eyes followed
the
direction of her finger, though instead of seeing broken glass, we
were
blinded by the glare of a car's headlights. A car that had
left the
street,
jumped the curb, and was mounting the sidewalk. Realizing
we
stood between an out of control car and a building, my partner
and
I ran for cover. Seconds before impact, the driver turned the
wheel.
Too intent on getting as far away from the building as
possible,
I was unaware this car was rapidly bearing down on me
from
behind. Never hearing the sound of a crash, I paused to look
back
and turned...just as the car hit me.
The
world in slow motion, my body on the car's hood, bouncing to
the
roof. Sliding from the roof and down the hatchback, as the car
sped
back toward the street. Lying in the street, face down on the
yellow
center line. The car continued to travel, made a U-turn, went
over
the opposite curb, and came to a sudden stop on the grass.
Critically
injured, I hear my partner shouting "Send help, she's been
hit
by a car!" Curious faces above me, a quiet night shattered, sirens
wailing,
as a sea of blue lights converge, surrounding me from all
directions.
One car screeches to a halt, its left front tire inches from
my
head. Conscious, but so confused, I wonder, should I tell them?
Is
there still a reason to tell them?
I had 10 children at home, the
youngest, were 18 month old twins.
I had no chance before the accident
to tell them about the new baby.
Their newest sibling was conceived
in spite of birth control, but to
survive his mother getting hit
by a car ?
Two
broken legs, muscles and ligaments destroyed, my knee crushed,
nose
broken, head, facial injuries, covered with an assortment of cuts
and
bruises, my prognosis looked bleak. After three emergency
surgeries,
my doctor said, "You'll never walk again, your police career
is
over BUT, you are still pregnant and it's a boy."
There is no way to adequately
describe the impact of those words, nor
the feelings, thoughts,
and emotions they evoked. My mind flooded
and overwhelmed, refused to
accept this final decision, that life as I'd
known it , was over , totally
and completely destroyed. Slowly, at first,
like a whispering in my head,
one thought began to form, growing
louder as it took shape and
emerged, clearing my fog of confusion as
it roared into focus,
YOU MUST SURVIVE...
I WILL SURVIVE....
SO MY SON CAN COME INTO THIS WORLD.
"GREATEST
LOVE OF ALL"
~WHITNEY
HOUSTON~
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