The white of the snow looked like it was stretching out the twilight so that night would never come. I love watching the snow fall, but driving in it is a different story. Especially driving up the winding trail to my house through the woods, but now I’m just about there.
The street and trees around the road are scattered with snow. I can see my mailbox just up ahead. I smile to myself and congratulating my little old car for making it all the way home without incident.
I’m turning into the long driveway up to my little hidden cottage, nestled between the trees of the surrounding forest, and I feel the tire to my right start to slide. I turn the wheel and slowly press on the brake to keep the car for sliding any farther. It doesn’t work.
I keep moving. The wheel balances over the edge of the ditch to the right of my mailbox, and then the car tips. It’s all over now, we’re going over the edge.
It’s an oddly subtle spill. I’m jostled a bit, but the car eases into the ditch and is surrounded by a soft pillow of snow. The car has nowhere else left to move.
I sit for a moment, making sure everything has settled, including myself. Taking a deep breath, I say a little prayer of thanks that this was the worst of it.
The car is tipped on its side, but it shouldn’t be too hard to get out of the car. I pull the handle of the door and push it up and open. The sky is already dark, but the moment is absolutely beautiful. As I prop elbows up on up on the outside of the car for leverage, I take a moment to look at the contrast of the white snow and the dark sky. It reminds me of millions of falling stars.
“Thank you Jesus.” I whisper into the creation that He made.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a dark figure shake. Then I hear a groaning and clumping sound. Looking quickly to my left, I still don’t have time to make out what’s going on until something heavy and prickly falls on me.
I feel bones break in my arm and something snap in my shoulder. The side of my face is on fire and a throbbing surrounds my head as I lay crumpled against the passenger side door.
I try to turn my head, but it won’t move. That’s alright. It doesn’t really matter. I’m hurt, but I’ll be ok. I can just call my husband from the cell phone in my pocket and have him come home and dig me out.
At that thought, my heart starts to race. No, I can’t all him. He’s going to be angry. I won’t have his dinner on the table, and he’ll have to actually dig me out. The animals won’t be fed and the car is going to need to go to the mechanic. No, I can’t call him. I need to take care of this myself, now.
I move my hand, pushing against the window below me, to shift onto my knees. The pain shoots through every part of me and I feel like I’m going to pass out, but I don’t have the option. I need to get out and get all of this taken care of.
I manage to get myself into a semi-standing position. Looking up, I see the branches of the tree that fell on me sticking through my open car door. There’s no wiggle room to get out through there.
The only way I’m going to be able to get out is through the sunroof. Thank God I let Matt talk me into getting a sunroof. And thank God the latch to keep it closed broke years ago. I’m going to be able to get out!
I pull the sunroof open and am hit harder with the cold air from outside. It is snowing even harder now. It’s high enough now that I’ll be able to crawl out onto the snow that has already reached the sunroof. I guess it’s a good thing the car fell on it’s side or else this would be a lot harder.
Sliding through the sunroof, I get halfway out before the dizziness takes over. I can’t tell which injury is hurting the most. I feel like a giant ball of pain.
Instead of the white spots of snow blinking in front of my eyes, I see dark spots that overtake my vision. I sink down, my face resting against the snow, and the last thing I think before completely blacking out is, “Now Matt’s going to be really mad at me. He’ll have to clean up my frozen body along with the car. But thank God for the beautiful snow!”
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