We spent hours planning our trip to New York. Barton’s cousin was getting married in Brooklyn, and his Coaches Leadership Tribe was having a gathering the same weekend. The trip was over Mother’s Day weekend, and I was reserved, what it would be like with so much family on a weekend I normally hibernate from the world. I didn’t quite know what to do with myself. I wanted to play, but it was such a raw time.

To make the trip fun, our flight was supposed to arrive Friday morning, and we had planned a full walking day across Manhattan from visiting the World Trade Center Memorial, through Chinatown, up to a bookstore and then to the hotel we were staying at. We even spent time looking at all the literary landmarks bubbling up through the city to see how many we could hit while we were there. There was the temptation of a drink at the Algonquin bar. I was thrilled!

Since our flight left so early, we were up well before the sun. Barton woke us up with the excitement of travelling. I was paranoid, though: was the oven off, were the lights okay. I had had a dream that there were sparks in the house, separating us and I couldn’t get to the people around me. While I’m always questioning when we leave for a big trip, I was left edgy.

Driving on the highway to the airport, we were discussing plans for the day, until a guy in front of us flicked out a cigarette sparking on the road.

Then behind us, a truck came rushing up, out of control and hit us as he swerved into our lane.

Lights on the left side came straight into my view. I felt the grinding, heard the sound of metal on metal. Both of my hands were on the wheel.

I heard this voice.
Okay. It’s okay, It’s okay. We’re okay.

We skidded on the shoulder and the side of the road. 432 feet. Later my dad would remind me this was longer than a football field. During this stretch there were no mileposts. No gas or restaurant signs. No guardrail. No trees.

Keep straight. Straight. We finally stopped.

The skid marks can still be seen, though I’ve only driven by once since the crash.

Back when Barton and I moved from Alabama to North Carolina, it was right after Katrina. We had talked through every single emergency we could think off crouched in my bathroom as the tornado sirens were going off. At that time, it included conversations of Baclofen, a medicine to relax muscles he was on at the time. But we also talked about extended power outages, flooded cars, and evacuation routes.

Car wrecks were unspoken for both of us. We never thought Barton would make it through a car wreck. If we turned or flipped, the weight of the wheelchair, even with Q-Straints; we always believed that the outcome would be negative. That was an agreed terms, we would be okay no matter what happens.

I remember friends visiting us, who also trained in martial arts. One of them taught a driving course. He told us a story where they would go out off roading, and then work on battlefield maneuvers. The first lesson was for the driver. He would yell, “Look over there!” And the driver inevitably would turn and run off the road. The driver’s job is always to drive the vehicle, to stay on course.

None of these lessons appeared during the skid. Only hands on wheel. Keep straight. Keep upright.

The guy in the GM Truck, he landed on the other side of the road. He got out and ran across to us.

“Are you okay?”

Recovery is not a one-word response. Recovery encompasses physical, emotional, legal, financial, day-to-day, all aspects of life.

I was already on the phone calling the police, our family who were supposed to pick us up in NY, and the airlines. Barton’s wheelchair had skidded forward a little, so the seatbelt had caught his ribs. I could only see the inside of the vehicle, bent in, as I emerged. The interior lights would not turn off. The door would not open. I did not see the imprint of the truck in the side of the van. I did not see the frame bent.

Once the police came, a fluster of activity – was Barton okay, an ambulance was called, the report, information exchange, what to do since he was in a motor wheelchair. Every first responder, and later, everyone we spoke to, was amazed we did not roll. They wanted us off the highway before the morning traffic began.

We arrived home with only our suitcase, and our adrenaline beating hearts.

And then the calls began. Our insurance, the guys insurance, how to get the van to the repair shop, How to get Barton’s motor wheelchair out of the van that was still on the road. A neighbor and co-worker took me back to the scene to meet AAA. When I returned, another set of questions. What to do with NY. Could we get on another flight? Notes on a pad of paper. Mind fuzzy, too many calls. Too much.

Finally, we decided we had to get out. We were going to NY, end of story. We took an Uber to the airport and sat in a bar before our flight. I had a margarita, Barton had a Bourbon. We looked into each others eyes. The kind of look you don’t forget.

While we missed our adventure walk through New York, we did see family, we attended the most beautiful, funky, have a blast wedding ever. With hiking boots and wedding lace. With neighbors sitting on steps and laughter. With a band and potluck food and dancing in the streets.

Sunday and Monday were rougher. Barton’s bruised ribs set in, especially with so much picking up during the trip. We were wondering why we survived if we weren’t able to be parents (yes, Mother’s Day did impact both of us in a way we couldn’t have expected). I was rattled in the back of the NY taxi. Life closed in a little. The shock rose to the surface. We needed space to recover.

When we returned home, we began to look at the next steps. What did we need to move through the shock? What did Barton need to put his rubs back together? Where would we find another van? What did I need so I could keep working? We tag teamed and got to work.

Once we were both physically okay, we turned our attention to the van. Our MV-1. We worked so hard to get black one, it was a serendipitous phenomenal experience.

Our blog in Love Rolls On shares the journey toward an accessible vehicle, a specialty vehicle, costing more than most sports cars. We were in the same position as many people of different abilities, the cost superseded what we ever could have afforded. Barton had made it to the semi-finals in a cost to win a van, a contest that involved every single one of our communities voting for us. When we didn’t win, we were determined to keep going. We donated an hour of our time for every $50 we received through Go Fund Me. With family matching our fundraising, we had just enough. In a moment of chance, we were able to get a demo vehicle, and our story moved the team at MV-1 so much, we spoke at the AM General launch,

However, AM General sold their domestic line in 2016, and MV-1s are not made anymore. I am heartbroken because after this experience, I don’t trust any other vehicle. Since the other driver’s insurance had a cap, and the value of our 2011 took it to the limit, we only had a rental van for a week. The rental van was a Dodge – it was the vehicle we were considering if we had not found the MV-1. Without a doubt, and on my mind as I drove it, if we had been in an SUV, I would not be writing these words today.

Monday, Barton was having a rough go, so I ran home for lunch, taking the 1.25 mile as fast as I could. On the way back to work, I could see the thunderclouds growing and knew I wouldn’t make it. I even stopped to ask a neighbor if I could get a ride, but she turned me away. The building was in sight but thunder shook the air. The downpour of rain splashed over me. At first, I tried to hide under a tree, but there was no use. I ran to cover, water running down my face and dress. It was the most refreshing experience, breathing hard, cold and wet, I am here.

After that, I walked the 1.25 mile to and from work 3-4 times a day in 97-degree heat, and neighbors also picked me up for work. I showed up to work, hot, sweaty, and here. Even in the sweltering sun, everything looked, and still looks, brighter. The new green on fresh cedar sparkles in my eyes. The fairy tree lit up with poofy fairy blossoms. Gardenia’s sweet aroma. The piercing hawk’s call above. My perception has been heightened, and I am enthralled by the life I pass with every step. Glowing.

Miraculously, we did find a 2014 MV-1. That is here! When I saw her, I knew that she would end up with us. We couldn’t do it alone. There was a gap, it was a big one. Family stepped in, in multiple ways. The flow aligned, and in a month, the day when we arrived back from a trip to AZ, she arrived. Our flight had been overnight, and I went straight to work, so when she arrived, we were so exhausted and relieved, we collapsed. It wasn’t until the weekend that we began to check her out, take her for a spin.

Welcome Firefly: “I am a leaf of the wind… watch how I soar.

There is a spiritual and emotional shift that still has us in awe. Reverence.

We should have flipped. We should have rolled. And we didn’t! We should not have lived – and we did!! We are still breathing, heart beating, speaking, moving.

The drama or chaos of the day, whatever happens, fine, it’s gonna happen. Crappy day, whatever, I’ll wake up the next day and it’ll be better. And we can get through it. At the end of the day, the drama doesn’t matter. We got this. We got it. It’s not being flippant. It’s living in a miracle. When you live a miracle, the rest of the stuff, it’s little tiny sand specks.

It’s being immersed in the universe. Pure divinity. Divine reverence.

I’m alive and I shouldn’t be – that attitude changes everything.

This perspective I don’t want to lose.

What do I want the day to look like? What do I want to learn? What do I want to do in life but haven’t yet? What matters, really matters? We’re going to be okay.
We’re okay.

From this divine space, everything is possible.