I snatched the seat belt off of me and crawled out the window. T. was hanging on the passenger side, upside down. I unsnapped his seat belt and pulled him through the window onto my lap, screaming for him to wake up. There wasn’t a single mark on him, but he wouldn’t wake. He wasn’t breathing. I sat there giving him mouth to mouth, sobbing uncontrollably, knowing in my heart that his spirit had left his body.
I had a horrible premonition on Monday. I was taking T. to the pediatrician. The rain was pouring down out of the sky as though every angel in heaven were crying. So fast, so furious, that you couldn’t see an inch in front of you, and even the wiper blades on the speed-of-light setting were of little use.
As I’m driving down the Powhite Parkway, an image appears in my mind just as clear as if I were seeing it unfold in front of me. Our Dodge Ram hitting the guardrail, my screaming and throwing an arm in front of T., and then the truck rolling end over end several times before coming to a rest on the side of the road on an embankment.
I then flashed to my sitting at home on my bed, rocking back and forth, alone and desolate. Calling him, asking him to please give me a sign, something. Anything. To just let me know that he was okay.
This “premonition” was so real, so life-like, that it caused a panic attack. I had to mentally and physically shake my head several times to get the images to fade away.
I looked over at T., completely unaware of what had gone through my mind in the past 10 seconds, singing his heart out, hands waving in the air, head be-bopping back and forth, not a care in the world.
I quietly said, just in case it was the last time I would ever get to tell him, “I love you little man.” He replied, “I love you too, Mom. Lots!” and continued singing.
I prayed for a safe journey there and home, and for God’s protection over us all. You never know when your life can be changed in an instant.