The day following the accident, everybody asked, “Are you okay?” The following day no classes mattered.  Nothing mattered.  I remained silent.  Not a word was expressed that could ease the pain. “McKenna, I just want to let you know that we are thinking about your family during this tough time. We love you. If you need anything, I am here.” These three phrases circled the heavy air as I walked the halls to each class. Others who considered themselves friends acted like she had died. Some told me it was luck, and some told me it was a blessing.  I do not know what it was; regardless, it saved the lives of two people, and I am forever grateful. I wish I could go back and erase what happened that eventful day. 

September 25, 2014: Nerd Day.  Like typical high schoolers my sister, Gabrielle, and I went as a box of nerds for spirit week.  I had stayed up late in the night to finish the smooth pink and purple poster boards we would be wearing lightly around our neck the following day. Without any issues, Nerd Day passed.  This particular year I played volleyball for my school, and that day we were given off for having a winning week. While riding the bumpy bus ride home, we passed a horrific accident that involved a little red car.  At the time I did not think anything of it because those types of misfortunes happen.  I arrived home about five minutes later, and I told my mom about the crash. She asked, “Do you know anyone involved in the crash?”  With my mouth full with a chocolate cookie, I muttered, “No, I don’t think so.”   My little sister and my mom left to go get a haircut; therefore, I was home by myself until they were done. 

As normal, I wanted to get all my homework done early. While I was trying to do that, I heard a firm knock at the door.  I slowly creaked the door, and standing there were two uniformed officers, dressed in all black.  Of course, being home alone and having policemen show up at my house without knowing why was terrifying.  The scrawny police officer stated,  “Is your mother home?”

After he had asked that, I responded, “No, but what’s wrong?” Thinking they would not tell me because I am a minor, I just disregarded the question.  A minute later, a response shattered the quietness outside.  “Your sister has been involved in a serious accident,” sighed the police officer.  “She will be okay, but she is getting life-flighted to Toledo.” 

Life-Flighted? How can someone I know be life-flighted? Why us? Why now? I thought to myself as I was trying to understand the situation.  At that exact moment, my heart sank.  I begin to feel sick, and my hands started to shake like a vibrating phone. He gave me a phone number to have my parents call; however, the first task was to get ahold of them. 

I phoned my mom. No response.  My dad. No response.  I tried multiple times, no answer.  Finally, my phone buzzed; it was my dad.  He was angry that I had interrupted work, but this was more important than work.  I told him what happened. Even though I could hear him start to cry in the background, his voice remained firm: “I cannot be home until Saturday.  I need your mother to go to Toledo and stay until I get there, and I don’t care how much this costs,” he mentioned.  At that moment, I knew he didn’t want his little girl to be hurt. 

Ten minutes later I received a text, “Are you home?”  One of my teammates, Lizzy, witnessed the whole accident.  She picked my siblings and me up and drove the hour all the way to Toledo.  When we arrived at the hospital, each hallway, a maze to the unknown, led us to a receptionist who put us in a tiny polished room with blinding white walls that surrounded each individual who entered the room, that held one gray sofa, two chairs, and a glossy side table. We sat in silence.

As the seconds turned to minutes and the minutes turned to hours, a doctor arrived.  He kindly excused the younger kids because he did not want them to hear what was wrong with Gabrielle or if she would even make it.  “She is lucky to be alive,” he uttered. These were the first words that echoed the cave that kept closing in on us.  Following that he muttered, “She has fractured ribs, a fractured pelvis, ruptured bladder, and her left side is all messed up.” One last phrase was spoken before he left the all white room: “She is also four months pregnant.”
My mom and I went in her room; an ice-cold body lay helpless on a bed, covered in long cords that soon scrambled up into one.  Blankets upon blankets covered her in order to keep her warm.  Her dark eyes were like black holes that the life had been sucked into.  A breathing mask was assembled on her in hopes to revive the seventeen-year-old girl that was coming home from school hours before.  I hoped she would say she was all right and ask if she could try on her homecoming dress that arrived two days before. None of that happened.  All I could hear was “beep, beep, beep” as the machines that kept her alive muted any sound that entered my ears.

Day after day for two weeks straight, we drove back and forth to Toledo.  Gabrielle spent two weeks in ICU and two weeks in rehab.  Gabrielle was put in a medically induced coma because her brain started to swell.  When she woke up, she had to learn how to do everything again.  Six months later, she delivered a baby boy.

People always think they have more time. They think nothing will ever happen, but they are wrong. Life doesn’t always give someone more time; one day could change life drastically, good or bad.  Throughout all of this I learned that life goes on.  Each day people choose whether to keep moving forward and taking a leap into the dark or to stay behind, locked in the light. That day there was a guardian angel protecting Gabrielle.  I now know to live every day like it’s the last and live passionately because in a blink of an eye everything can change.