My Life with Death

Near Charleston, WV, April 12, 1999, 4:01 p.m.

 We were driving home from my and my sister's birthday party. I was 19, and my sister was 15. We had the same birthday, just four years apart. Like every year, we went to the New River Gorge National Park for our birthdays and stopped for dinner in town on the way home. We were a short distance from Charleston. Our favorite country music was playing on the radio. It was beautiful outside. The sun was still high above the horizon. We crossed rivers and passed the Appalachian peaks. Green plains and forests disappeared behind us. The suburbs were starting to grow in front of us. Along the road were small and large buildings and several farms where farmers sold their home products and handicrafts.

I was looking at the beauty of the window of an old '73 Chevrolet Impala. Zooey was resting. We needed that after a full day of climbing hills and river valleys. Dinner and an evening full of social games and fun awaited us. Like every year. The parents were talking. Dad was driving. Mom argued with him about it. But she always lost the argument. In our home, the father was the full-fledged head of the family with everything. In addition, he was a policeman and always claimed that mom regularly exceeded the speed limit, so he forbade her to drive after a specific incident. But they argued the most about Mom's work. She was too busy with work as a prosecutor and had a rather demanding case. Her job, like her father's, had certain risks. But Mom was never afraid of any of the defendants. She didn't take their threats personally. She always had an obsessive belief in the justice system and justice.

4:09 p.m.

They started arguing terribly. They ignored the road. I don't know what happened. I didn't watch and learned not to listen to them. But I remember a scream, followed by metal, broken glass, and nothing more.

4:30 p.m.

I woke up—several times. Some flash always awakened me... rival. And then I passed out again. But this time, I gained more strength and opened my eyes. Our car was lying on its roof in the grass about a meter from the side of the road. I was lying on the road not far from him. I had to fly out through the window upon impact. The force catapulted me straight out of the car. I couldn't move. I had a deep gash on my forehead. She was bleeding. I felt it. I had a headache. Horribly. But not because of that wound. I had to guess somewhere else, elsewhere on the head. I couldn't lift her off the ground. And I didn't even want to.

I was afraid of making it worse. I managed to keep my eyes open for a moment, but it was a terrible sight. Smoke was coming from the car. There was a smell of diesel fuel everywhere. A river of flammable oil flowed in my direction. The grass on the side of the road was on fire. I had to get as far away from the car as possible, and I also had to help my family. But I didn't even know where they were. I was worried. I was crying. I prayed for help. With all the strength I could muster, I crawled as far away from the car as possible. Glass and pieces of metal littered the road. I cut my hands and feet on them as I waded through them to the other side of the road.