Our Christmas Miracle

12/25/2012 I reached for the volume of the radio. It was tuned to the Seahawks vs. 49ers game on Sunday night. The Seahawks were ahead 21-3 and their offense had just crossed the 50 yard line when I heard the loud noise. I knew we were in trouble. "I can't control it," Coleen let me know. I reached for the steering wheel with my left hand , looking ahead through the windshield at what the car was doing. The car's headlights were darting from left to right, like a bull being released at a rodeo. We were headed south. Between us and the northbound lane was a center lane of dirt. Our car, incapable of keeping its course from its blown tire succumbed to the law of physics and rolled itself. In my right hand I held Coleen's phone. I had been checking for game updates between the towns from Redding that lost radio reception. While the car was flipping, my hand left the steering wheel searching for anything that would give me the knowledge of where I was. Being tossed inside the car, seatbelt on, I imagined where the car was going. "Is this it?" I asked myself. "Was this the way I was going to go?" My two kids, Mateo and Elise, 4 and 2, were buckled in the back made no sounds. Coleen, my wife of three months, and partner for over 9 years, had her seatbelt on next to me. If God wanted us to go there was nothing we could do about it. "Please Lord be with us." I seemed to think/feel in my heart. Despite being hit around like a pinball I felt a strange peace that my connection with God, His angels, Spirit (whatever people debate to call Him, Her or It) would protect us. Yet, another side of me knew it was very possible that all four of us couldn't be making it to Christmas. "What would it be like for my family if they received my news?" "Why?" "Why do we have to go like this?" "Why does this need to happen?" These thoughts flashed before me. Recently reading of stories of Near Death Experiences, I heard that souls are asked if they want to stay in Heaven or return to Earth. Sometimes they are given the choice. "No," I thought, "not yet." I was telling whoever would listen: God, my Spirit guide, my angels- I was not wanting to go. I didn't feel ready. It wasn't my time. This isn't how I wanted to go. At one point while we were flipping, iphone still in my right hand, I felt and pushed the ground. I pulled my arm closer to me imagining the worst that would happen if my arm got stuck. And some point it all stopped. Upright, in the center lane between the opposing lanes of traffic, our headlights faced the northbound lane at about a 60 degree angle. Amazed we appeared out if danger, in one piece, in no apparent pain. I turned and saw Coleen. She too seemed fine: awake and alert. As if our thoughts were telegraphed, our attention turned to the backseat. Before I turned to look, I knew that if I saw any of my children were gone a part of me could never be replaced. And my thanks I had for being alive would turn toward anger toward God. I tried to find the place beyond human emotions. The place that understands how much of our life is beyond our control and is in the hands of God. And even if I looked in the backseat and discovered the worst fate imaginable to any parent, my faith in God must remain pure, uncontaminated by what happens here. Turning I first saw Mateo, upright and buckled in his seat. "Are you okay?" His wide eyes speaking loudly: shock and turned turned to sadness. But he was okay. Then I turned to look for Elise. Her chair was not upright where I expected it to be. It laid on its side across the seat. Covered by her blankets, all I could see of Elise was a patch of here face. There were no sounds. I don't remember if it was Coleen or I that pulled away the blankets, but unveiled was a pair of eyes that stared back at us. All of us were okay. I undid Mateo's seatbelt and pulled him into my lap. Coleen did the same for Elise, grabbing her and her blanket. Coleen and I exchanged assurances were okay. I hugged Mateo in both arms, squeezing him not with all my might, but with all my heart, and started to weep. My prayers switched from prayers of thanks: "Thank you God" to prayers of help, "Please Lord help us". Soon a man came to the blown out window where Mateo had at and asked us if we were okay. He let us know that all was called and the ambulance was on its way. He asked if we could get out of the car. We could not. Our doors were stuck. My window was shattered. I could have attempted to get out, but partially because of my recent CPR training, and partially because I thought there was no point, I remained in the car. We asked if he could dial my family. I could hear only the start of the conversation as he walked away. The front of our car was crushed. The visor hung an inch or two above Mateo dripping cold water onto his sweatpants. For the first time I noticed that there was blood on my left hand. I did a mental examination. It didn't feel like I was bleeding anywhere that I could feel. I lifted my left hand into the light and all seemed well. I attempted to use my phone that was still next to me in the armrest console. I didn't know what happened to the iphone. As I was scrolling through the contacts with my left thumb, it got stuck, called a co-worker, before shutting down. The day before, I was informed on my phone call with Samsung, that my phone was experiencing intermittent power down. True to form, the phone turned itself off. When the responder returned we asked if he could call our family again so we could speak to them. He handed the phone to Coleen. She informed my step dad, Robert, "we were in accident. It was pretty bad," before crying. We were later informed the nearest hospital was 40 minutes away. The air was cold. I was shivering when the first EMT arrived. Her name began with a T. Her blue protection gloved hand firmly on my leg gave me a sense that help was here and that we were going to be okay. They needed the firefighters to cut through our doors. Coleen and Elise were given a blanket to shield themselves before they smashed her window, before cutting through her door. I told Mateo to trust them before passing him to them. For precautionary reasons, they decide to immobilize our heads and backs before transporting us in the ambulance to the hospital. Attempting to get the brace around the neck was difficult for the fireman because of my position. As he was trying to secure the brace, I felt a hard plastic piece pushing against my adam's apple. I let him know that it hurt. Wiggling it around at bit before attempting to secure it, the hard plastic piece again was pushing up against my neck, making it difficult to breathe. Understanding he was doing his best, but not wanting to get injured worse, I told him: "get that fucking thing off of me because it was hurting me worst than my injury". The frustrated fireman discontinued and informed his team that I wouldn't let him put it on me. Another firefighter took over, turned the brace around, and secured it the proper way. Later the original firefighter apologized and we chuckled about it. I let him know it was okay. Pulling me on the backboard, one of the firefighters informed his team that his boots were getting stuck. As they heaved me out, the fireman informed everyone that he lost his boot. In my vision of comedy, I next envisioned being either dropped to the ground or sliding off the side. Neither of these happened. As I was being strapped to the board on the ground, one of the responders let me know that the mud probably helped cushion the crash, "You guys were lucky!" It wasn't the first time time we were told that during the night and it wasn't the last. "How many times would you say you flipped," they asked. "Three or four," I guessed. "Where are you from?" "Eugene, Oregon" "Are you a Ducks fan?" By the tone of his voice I guessed that he was a Ducks fan, as well. "Yes," I answered. "We'll get along okay then," he said patting me on my shoulder. "My kids are from there. In fact, they were headed back tonight. Do you think they'll have trouble with Kansas St." Smirking, thinking about the circumstances of the night and that now I was discussing the Fiesta Bowl strapped to a backboard. "No," I told him. I was wheeled into the ambulance when they informed me that Mateo and Elise were already on their way to the hospital in the first ambulance. Elise was secured next to me in her car seat. She never cried once. Being strapped down and unable to move my head, I thought she was strapped to a bench in the ambulance. One of the responders had taken Mateo's bear, "Fun Bear", out of the car and given it to the first responder to arrive to the scene. She entertained and talked with Elise between checking on me. Midway through the 30-45 minute ride to the hospital I felt a tapping on my left side, near my hip. My hand felt Elise's foot and I held it for the remainder of the way. Fast forward to Christmas Day at my mother's house. It's 11:30 and Elise just woke up. Exhausted from the last 48 hours, this is the latest she has ever woke up. She is holding "Fun Bear". It's been a few minutes before she asks, "jeep flipped?" "Yes," I answer, "jeep flipped". Going through an event like the one we lived through makes easier for me to grateful for what I have ( I am not trying to think of the medical bill). I am thankful for all the responders, the hospital staff at the Chico hospital, and the support and outreach of friends and family. There are still moments I flashback to the event. Writing this was a way for me to purge the memory and emotions I have. My mom was the only I corrected when she told me that we were lucky. I told her I wouldn't call it lucky. Yes, we were wearing our seat belts. But so many other things could have happened. It was a miracle. I am not sure if it fits others' definition of a miracle, but for myself, it was a Christmas miracle. Usually, people ask what you gifts you received after Christmas. Being so close to possible death, it's impossible to ignore the gift of life. And know how blessed we all are. Merry Christmas, Matt