It feels as if I just came out from the scariest roller coaster ride of my life. On Saturday, our car lost control on the freeway and the car dived and flipped twice into the embankment. My mom and I, despite dust on our faces and a few tiny scratches, were left for the most part, unscathed. We were totally fine.
For me, the gravity of the incident didn’t seem to sink as deeply as it has with my uncle and my aunt who only saw the sight of the totaled car and started tearing up about what could have been. But when the paramedics, the cops, and the firemen told us that we were lucky to be alive, I set their genuine sentiments aside. “Luck”? Clearly it was something more than that. We were told that there have been 6 fatalities in that area in the past month alone. Six separate accidents, six people dead. In my mind, we could’ve been the seventh. How could I fathom escaping from that hell ride with only a tiny scratch to show for it?
I’ll never forget what the cop said when he saw me as he opened the door on my side. “You were inside the car? You look like you just came out of the shower and hopped in right after the whole accident!” I can’t even bring myself to fully grasp what just happened to me. My faith in God is unwavering, but I’ve always hoped that I could witness any kind of sign from Him––anything that would clearly tell me his intentions for my life. Then on that Saturday morning, I believe I just witnessed a miracle.
Edit: ah, it was Saturday, not Friday. Got my days mixed up.