Most of you have read the story about my car accident by now.. What most of you don’t know is, the man who picked me up off of the side of the road, well, I never knew his name, or maybe I did, but I never remembered it.. until a few weeks ago.
After I wrote down my story, I decided it was time I read the car accident report. I wanted to know everything, I needed to know everything. After all, it is my story. What if I didn’t remember it correctly? What did I see as a child that the adults involved may have interpreted differently?
My mother hesitantly handed it to me in one of those off white, paper folders, and I clutched it tight in my fingers. All the answers, all of the facts, were in my hand and only a mere piece of paper separated them from me.
I tucked the folder away, not knowing what to expect, but expecting it to not be any worse than my own story. The girls were awake and wild, I needed to focus on the report to be able to get through it and absorb all of the details I so desperately longed to know. But first, I needed the girls to go to bed.
The afternoon crept by, I found myself glancing to the bookshelf, where the folder lie from time to time. My heart would skip. So close, yet so far away. I finally got the girls to bed and sat down on the sofa. Clock ticking overhead, the seconds seemed to be going faster than usual. It has been so long since I have read an actual sheet of paper.. lots of sheets, this report is thick and stapled together, most pages I read these days require scrolling, not flipping. I opened the folder and the ink and paper smelt so nice and familiar, almost comforting. I nestled deeper into the sofa, and started reading.
If you have ever read and autopsy and you are not a doctor, you will know what I mean when I say I googled most of the words on the pages. It was both devastating, and almost easing to find out I was right about the condition my father was in, and how every detail I remembered about the car accident was 100% accurate. It felt like an airplane at take off, because we were indeed flying through the air. Amazed at my memory, I didn’t know if I should smile, or cry, but I had the facts, and the facts supported my story.. and that felt good, well, sorta. I took in each word of the report. The EMT’s, the coroner, the sheriff, my grandfather, my own, and finally, my angel’s.
I have always called this man an angel, my angel. Several cars passed, he stopped. I felt so safe with him. He stayed with me, comforted me with his presence.. I was finally able to read his story, to learn his name….
Most of you also know I have a beautiful daughter named “Georgette.” People often ask why we picked her name or who she is named after, “a name like that has to be a family name.” Until now, I have never had an answer..
The only part that brought me to tears while reading the horrid, factual, scientific, and testifying report was learning that my daughter, my sweet, sensitive, intuitive, baby girl is not named after a member of our family, but rather she is named after my angel. Her soft brown hair and honey brown eyes, now every time I say her name a new gift and a new reminder of God’s love and grace.. she is every bit as much an angel to me, as George is.