The Accident

               

                It was a nice summer day in 2005; the clouds were high and the sun was hot and beating down as our dad had come to pick my sister Elizabeth and I up from Camp Nicolet where we would often go to spend our summers instead of being stuck at home. We had packed our suitcases in the back of my dad’s tracker and were on our way home, actively talking about our various camping trips: like our canoeing trip to Sylvania, a sea kayaking trip to the Apostle Islands and a hiking trip up in the Porcupine Mountains. It was smooth-going, all until I had gotten the courage to ask about our older brother, Sam who was nineteen at this time and how he was doing.

                I remember a long pause and I felt myself catch my breath. Normally, my dad would immediately begin talking about him and updating us, but this specific time, there was nothing. Just silence. Something was wrong. I stared out the window to help distract myself from the bad feeling; glancing at the passing trees and cars as I assumed my dad had nothing to say about him.

                “Your brother was in an accident.” He responded shortly after. I felt my stomach tighten into a knot. I was right, something was indeed wrong. My sister and I were both silent for a moment.

                “What do you mean? I asked.

                “It was a very bad car accident and he is in very critical condition.” After hearing this, I was afraid to hear more, feeling tears build up in my eyes; my stomach began to tighten itself even more. Though knowing me, I asked more about what happened. I was not one to take small details; I wanted the whole story step-by-step just then.

                “He and a couple friends were on the beltline, driving a good 60 miles per hours. Sam, knowing him, thought it would be a cool idea to try getting out and running alongside the car like they do in the movies.”

                Oh no…I thought. I felt my breath catch in my throat, I could hardly breathe.

                “He opened the car door and proceeded to step out. As he placed his first foot on the pavement, he lost his balance and his foot caught from under him. Seconds later, his head hit the asphalt and he blacked out. He was rushed to the ER and was soon in surgery. He cracked his skull and had to get a fourth of his brain removed due to the blood clots.” The section that had been removed had been the main one that was responsible for making cognitive decisions and logical thinking.

                Why had I bothered asking in the first place?

                My brother at this time, being nineteen, made him the youngest person in the recovery center. Everyone had the same thought of when he first arrived after his accident: He wasn’t going to make it. My sister and I were each fourteen years old (due to us each being adopted, but our birthdays were only a couple months apart) and going to be entering 8^th grade in the coming fall. At the time of the accident, our mom was on a Carnival cruise in the Caribbean. Somehow, the hospital eventually had gotten ahold of her and told her the tragic news. Next thing she and everyone knew, she was headed back on the next flight home, cutting her vacation short.

                I remember the first visit we made to my brother in the hospital: his head all wrapped up in a white gauze bandage, seeing the stitches of where the doctors had done the surgery procedure, his voice very faint and soft whenever he spoke. It wasn’t easy for any member of our family to see him in that type of condition; no one had expected something like that to happen. He was then diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder and Epilepsy; the doctors proceeded to mark down certain medications to prescribe him. He would have frequent seizures and dramatic episodes if he had not taken his medication as required. He would often mix his medication with alcohol, which of course doctors specifically warn you not to do. Due to that, there were often more hospital visits. I wasn’t one to like the hospital scene, so every visit had made me slightly more uncomfortable than the last.

                It seemed somehow that I had been more scared and concerned about my brother than most anyone in my family, seeing as him and I have been quite close and he had taught me a lot growing up. From the accident alone, most everyone seemed to sweep it under the rug and not worry about it. In life, every action is followed by a certain consequence, and therefore the accident was a dramatic consequence of what happened to change my brother’s and all of our lives forever.

Author's Note

This is a true story about an accident that happened to my older brother when I was about 14 years old. A day that changed both his and my family's life forever.

Reviews

[Brianna]

I am so sorry for you, that is sad :(