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A beautiful, warm, and sunny day in september. I head out on my Harley Davidson sportster 1200 for a ride with my dad and friend. About an hour into our ride we stop at a little campground. We talked about things going on in our lives, while enjoying a good cigar.

I often think about time, and how precise it had to be for the events that occurred to unfold; surely there must be a purpose to come of all this. Had we talked just a little while longer, or a little while less, what happened would not have happened at all.

We finished our cigars and our conversation. We got on our bikes, and rode off towards our destination. The wind felt nice on such a warm day, and nothing feels quite so freeing as riding a motorcycle. We came around a blind corner, and there it was. A bus-driver had parked a school bus not on the straight stretch directly behind and nearer the children’s house, but instead on the exit of a blind corner. My dad and friend, riding directly in front of me and having been riding much longer than I, pulled off a quick stop after straightening out first. Unfortunately, I was in a lean and braked hard as to avoid hitting anything or anyone. Rolling across the pavement I saw glimpses of blue sky followed by dark pavement over and over. When I finally came to a stop I sat up on my knees holding my right arm (I am right handed), and I was looking at all the blood. Thankfully, both my dad and friend are medical professionals, especially considering it took 45 minutes for the ambulance to arrive.

Dad: Checking my spine and neck for injuries… “Does this hurt?”

Me: “No, but my mouth is as dry as a desert, I need water.”

Dad: “You can’t have any water right now buddy.” He gently removes my helmet.

Me: Seeing blood all over and not knowing where it is all coming from I asked “Am I going to die?”

Dad: “No you’re not going to die!”

Me: “I need to know the truth. Don’t be like the movies and just say I’m not while I slowly slip away!”

Friend: “You are not going to die. It is really bad though, and you will likely need to have 2-3 surgeries.”

Me: “Okay, call and tell my wife and daughter I love them!”

That was obviously just a short transcript of our dialogue. There was no cell service and the bus driver had left the scene without calling for help over her radio. Our friend walked down the road to the nearest house and used their home phone to call for help. It took 45 minutes for EMS to arrive on scene, thank God for our bodies mechanisms that allow us to not feel pain for a time; it got me by until they arrived with morphine.

I was transferred to the nearest hospital where I stayed overnight. I had a surgery where they just cleaned out the wound to avoid infection until they could get me a bed at a different hospital. My elbow had shattered, the bone came all the way out and then sucked back in, leaving a big hole. I also broke my left knee; the tibia where it connects to the ACL. The next day I was transferred to another hospital where there were specialist surgeons. I can walk now and move my arm a little, but still missing most range of motion. I will be having a third surgery soon though that the surgeons believe will really improve the range of motion.

This daily post prompt was about a close call. The close call was death. Not everyone survives a motorcycle accident like that. I thank God that I am alive, it is by His grace alone. And I believe He will restore me in His timing. In the meantime I am very thankful for my loving wife and family who have been very supportive.

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Close Call.”

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