Fateful Joyride

As usual, Wednesday morning started early.  4:45 to be more precise.  Typically, Kacey works her way through my darkened room to hug me before heading off to work, and I nudge Jason into taking Kennadi and Jordan to seminary.  Wednesday was different.  Kacey burst into my room to ask, "Where are Dad, Jordan, and my car?"  Thinking Jason and Jordan had run to fill up Kacey's car with gas for her, I called Jason to find out where he was.  From the downstairs family room where he had fallen back asleep after getting up too early, Jason groggily answered, "the couch."

That set off the alarm bells in my heart and head and my next question set off the same alarm bells for Jason, "Where is Jordan and where is Kacey's car?" To which Jason answered, "I'm up!"

We couldn't begin to imagine how the day would unfold as we hastily made plans for getting everyone where they needed to be and proceeded to guess where Jordan could be and why. 

The girls and I knelt in Kennadi's room where we said a prayer asking for Jordan's safety.  The timing of that prayer and the events we would later discover were more than coincidental--remarkable, really.

With Jordan's autism spectrum disorder, we have become well aquainted over the past 17 years with impulsivity and Jordan's inability to think things through to logical conclusions.  It is impossible to explain to outsiders how such an intelligent and often engaging person as Jordan can do things that the rest of us would immediately recognize as stupid, harmful, selfish, dangerous, or just plain crazy.  I can't make sense of it myself.

We knew this was one of those times.  It wasn't the first time, but we feared it could be the last time.

Within a half hour of our prayer, we received the following call from a Good Samaritan who had been immediately behind Jordan on the road.  In California.  Over three hours away:

Your son veered off the right side of the highway, hit a burm, and over-corrected.  He then crossed all lanes of traffic, and rolled the car twice.

The next call was from a paramdic at the scene who informed us they were life-flighting Jordan to a head trauma center in San Bernadino.

These are phonecalls parents never anticipate.  Absolutely everything else in your world gets pushed so far back in your brain to make room for the images of worst-case scenarios and feelings of hope, desperation, worry, and fear to consume every square inch of space.  My heart and brain were out of sync, and I felt disconnected from the person making phonecalls to family, and making arrangements to get to California. 

Without an extra car, and due to the early hour, we decided it would be best if Jason just started driving to California so I could stay in Las Vegas to make necessary arrangements for the girls.  We were blessed to have a friend loan us a car.  One less thing to worry about.

My morning felt rushed and filled, yet I was getting nothing accomplished.  I couldn't fill the minutes and hours that dragged on with anything of use as I awaited, and at the same time dreaded, news from Jason or the hospital.

Two of the first phonecalls and texts I received were from my mom and a sweet friend, both of whom went straight to the temple on our behalf.  Both of them said the same thing--that they felt peace.  As long as the day was, and as slow as the passing of time was, I felt peace as well.  Thoughts of death, brain damage, long term disability, etc. continued, but they weren't scary to me, and I was able to have the thoughts without dwelling on them.  Two quotes I recently read came to mind:


And this...


Though a storm was raging, I was incapable of calming myself, and I was receiving no calming news, I felt peace.  I have pure gratitude for those who prayed on our behalf to enable that peace to envelope me.

Upon Jordan's arrival at the trauma center, the only news we received was that an MRI had been performed, and the results would be another hour or more. 

More waiting.

Far away.

Unable to control the outcome.

Finally, as Jason's long four hour drive came to an end, and he arrived at the hospital, we received the news that the MRI was completely normal.  There was no internal bleeding.  There were no broken bones.

I am speechless.

How does one walk away from an accident like that all in one piece?!?  My mind struggles to comprehend, so I won't try.

I will just be grateful. 

Grateful that Jordan has survived.  Grateful that Jordan was blessed with a sister who won't spend the rest of her life plotting revenge.  Grateful that the bills from this incident won't arrive until I've had time to process everything.  Grateful that I continue to stand and remain somewhat sane.

Now several days have passed, and I've had time to feel all the emotions that raged within me that day and the days following the accident.  I have begun to recover from the physical exhaustion that resulted from the emotional toll.

Life goes on, I guess.  It must because the little jokes we always manage to make after times like these (laughter is how our family deals with our crazy) are beginning to emerge.  The words of my wise older brother spoken years ago when Jordan survived sleeping under a burning bed come to mind, and I tried to reason that his survival meant Jordan had a mission here on earth to complete.  My brother said:

The Angels are up there saying, "WE'RE NOT TAKING HIM BACK!"

"We're Not Taking Him Back"

When Jordan was little, my parents often invited him to spend the night at their house just a couple blocks away. My mom had a special room decorated for her grandkids, and it was a special treat to watch movies, eat snacks, and just be with Grandma and Grandpa.

On one particular sleepover, my Dad awoke in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom. This in and of itself was not unusual--he is a grandpa, after all. It was a little weird, though, that he decided to use the bathroom in the hallway instead of the master bath. On his way to the bathroom, he noticed a faint "glow" coming from under the specially-decorated-grandkid-room door. Upon opening the door to determine the source of the glow, my dad immediately noticed Jordan was not in bed, and there was a fire under the bed.

After "lights out" Jordan had decided to read himself to sleep under the bed.

With the lamp for light.

But the lampshade didn't fit under the bed, so Jordan had removed the lampshade.

Though a significant hole had been burned all the way through the carpet, pad, and subfloor, miraculously, Jordan and the bed both remained intact. Jordan never even woke up.

As I recounted this amazing story of survival over dinner with my married siblings later that week, I pointed out each detail that led to the blessing of Jordan's survival:

• Dad had needed to go to the bathroom when he did and not any later


• Dad decided to use the hallway bathroom that was farther away than his own


• In his sleepy state, Dad had noticed the glow from under the bedroom door


• Jordan hadn't been burned

I went on and on about how our little Jordan must have a mission here on this earth to still be with us. I even saved the light bulb as a gentle reminder of the precious gift that is Jordan's life...

Then my oldest brother added his two cents and snapped us all back to reality.

His only comment was, "The Lord and angels were up there saying, 'Oh no you don't! You promised to take this kid, and we're not taking him back!'"

It's nice to know Jordan has angels.

Rocket Safety #101

When Jordan was about 8 or 9 he came home from school with a rocket he'd made in science class. It was just a harmless little thing made from a film canister and alka selzer.

Being the fully supportive family that we are, everyone gathered on the driveway to watch Jordan "launch" his rocket. Jordan carefully placed the miniature rocket in the middle of the driveway while we all stood far enough away (for safety sake, of course) that we could barely even see the rocket.

We waited...

and waited...

and waited...

Jordan assured us that the rocket worked perfectly when his teacher demonstrated it, so we continued to wait.

Just as Jordan knelt down to inspect the malfunctioning rocket, darn if the thing didn't launch right then--smack into his forehead!

Again, being the fully supportive family that we are, we all witheld our laughter for at least 3 1/2 seconds--almost enough time to determine that the rocket hadn't hit anything vital, like an eye.

Lesson learned.

NOT!

Less than 24 hours after Jordan's first near-death experience (as death relates to rockets, anyway, since we'd lost count on actual near-death experiences), Jordan came home from his after-school science program with a REAL rocket. It was so exciting because this thing was, like, 2 feet tall, with a launching pad and all! The launching mechanism required one of those huge square batteries, so it was clear this no alka-selzer rocket wanna-be.

Sadly, the weather wasn't going to cooperate with us that day, so I explained to Jordan that we would all go to the park as soon as the rain let up. I really wanted Jordan to have a good rocket experience after the previous day's mishap, be we would have to wait, and I would have to look at his sad little face for a good 24 hours at least.

or NOT...

At the time, we had a basement that was equipped with a full commercial bakery. My sister and I had a huge bakery order to fill and were knee-deep in gift baskets when my four supposedly homework-doing children started screaming unintelligabley as they scrambled over one another in a ball of arms and legs down to the basement. Being that all four kids were seemingly on the same team in this case and more panicked than crying, I figured it was something worth looking into. Just as I hurled myself over the shaking kid-mass in the stairwell and began fast-walking (after all, kids can get worked up over little things, so I didn't feel the need to run,) every smoke detector in the house began shrieking all at once. I stepped it up and started taking stairs two at a time.

I was greeted at the top of the stairs by a smoke-filled kitchen. The kids were still a screaming, jumbled, hugging mess several steps behind me and no help whatsoever as I attempted to discern where the smoke was coming from. Oddly, there didn't seem to be any accompanying fire.

As the cloud began to dissipate and the smoke-detector shrill continued, a small, charred, wooden block emerged smack dab in the center of my gorgeous wood floor. This blackened thing looked mysteriously like the rocket launcher Jordan had brought home only 20 minutes before. Yet there was no rocket resting proudly upon it.

I slowly (very slowly since I feared the worst and wasn't entirely ready to face it)scanned from what I now knew to be that stupid launcher all the way up to my 18 ft. ceiling. There, majestically embedded in my kitchen ceiling was Jordan's rocket!

By this time, and with tears streaming down his face, Jordan had worked his skinny little shirtless body between my warm body and my arm. I could feel his chest thumping at what seemed to be double the pace of my own racing heart, and all I could do was hug him tightly. I couldn't even speak, let alone get mad.

Don't get me wrong, it's more in my nature to get mad and yell THEN check for broken bones, etc. This time was different. I just stood there in awe--awe that there was a rocket in my ceiling, awe that Jordan's face hadn't been blown off, awe that Jordan had escaped death.

again.