A sad and strange time here on the mountain

Just over a week ago both of my parents were struck by a coal truck as pedestrians in an intersection. My mom wanted to stop at a bookstore. And my dad wanted to do whatever made mom happy. It was broad daylight. It was one of those intersections with a count down voice and a walking dude light. They waited for the walk signal to cross.

My sister and her family are there with them. My parents had just left after visiting them for a week. It had been their fist vacation in a long, long time after lovingly caring for my grandmother in their home for several years, until she’d recently passed.

They were several states away when it happened, and it took me a couple days to straighten things out here on the farm before flying down. So I flew off to the big city of Pittsburg, alone, leaving my husband behind to care for 120 month-old chicks, with more literally hatching as I flew away.

My 17-year-old son has lingering disabilities following major neurological surgeries a couple years ago. He had been living with my parents since last fall, and has now moved back in. I have no idea when his upcoming appointments are. We need to enroll him in his old school. I have no idea how to legally do those things, because my mother was been caring for him, and acting as his guardian.

My mother may never be able to speak again. In order to live, she had to have part of her brain removed to reduce swelling from the severity of her injuries. She also has a broken writs and fractured neck. My dad lost half his foot, sustained a lesser head injury requiring staples, and is really worried about mom. They both have broken ribs, though dad’s are substantially worse.

How could this have happened? I think it’s still sinking in, the reality of it all.

I’m heading down to PA today. I missed my first flight after several people had bags checks, including me. I didn’t actually see them take anything out of anyone’s bags. They don’t care if you miss a flight. They don’t know what is on the other end of your journey. It’s not a business trip or a vacation. I missed four hours with my parents because they wanted to look over my deodorant. They switched my flight free of charge.

This time around I left things a little easier for Kevin to care for. I made bigger waterers and feeders. Fixed some old broken ones, added some drinker cup gravity fed buckets that will hopefully not require any filling before I return. Though if I’m late getting back, I will need to phone a friend to do ankle banding. I wish there were some way to smuggle dad’s dog into the hospital.

A friend graciously offered for me to ride from their home near Pittsburgh back up to our farm in Maine. She’s actually driving right to my road from half an hour from the hospital. Then a week later I’m driving back down with her to visit for another week.

Some might call that a miracle. I don’t. A miracle would have been if that truck barely missed them, or came through even a few seconds sooner. I don’t make up philosophical reasons for the randomness of the universe. I don’t find solace in thinking things happen for a reason.

I have a donation fund for my flights at: https://gofund.me/652d96b2