September 2001

THAT day.

In September an amazing phenomenon occurs. Everyone whips out their American Flags, Rifles, and Bibles. Reminding us to Never Forget. (Or as one person quipped Never Forgive. My issues with this view later.)

Everyone's got a story about what they were doing in September 2001. I've got a bit of a different tale about September 2001, but I'd be lying if I said it was one I'd ever forget.

September 2001 I was thirteen, homeschooled, and still waiting to get my braces off. My brother, Aaron, was a senior in Homeschool High and taking a couple of college classes at the community college. We were at Volleyball practice that morning and Aaron was running late.
Then the accident happened.
Two girls came running in the gymnasium from where they had been playing outside saying that Aaron was stuck in his car and was yelling for help. By the time we made it outside this man was lifting Aaron's truck off his body. Aaron had been trapped between his car and a 3 ft high cement wall. The truck had been rolling down the hill towards a house at the bottom of the parking lot. Aaron had jumped infront of it in an attempt to stop the car. Well, it stopped, but only after it had smashed him into a concrete wall and trapped him there. There was an amazing flurry of activity. Jake and Jackson, teammates from the boys team carried Aaron into the bathroom and we ripped his pants off. There was a large (3-4 inches length) gash on his upper thigh, and I could read his license plate backwards off his leg. The most disturbing part however was this gash (through which I could see bone, it's vaguely bluish) was not bleeding. Aaron was very white, not yelling anymore. Very calmly telling us that he really hurt. My mom decided there was no time to wait for an ambulance and we loaded him up in the car and she drove off to Cox North, the hospital Aaron was born at 18 years and two days ago.

I was left at the gymnasium, there wasn't room in our small car. I didn't feel like going back to practice. So I waited. Mom said she'd be back to pick me up once Aaron was in the ER. After all, he'd only been 18 for two days, she figured she'd still have to do all the legal stuff. I just kinda sat. I'm sure it was only 30 minutes or so but Gretchen, my teammate and much taller twin loaded me in her car and we drove to the hospital. My mom had called and told us he had been transferred to Cox South. I remember the ER waiting area vaguely, I remember a small carpeted room where the Chaplain talked to me and I remember the surgical waiting area. I remember Gretchen and Jake being there except when the Chaplain told me Aaron probably wouldn't live. I remember being with most of my family when the surgeon told us Aaron would not be able to walk again if he lived. I remember finally getting to see him a day later, in his hospital room, mad as hell, legs flayed open to counteract compartment syndrome. I remember him doing sit-ups in bed on day two. Trying to sneak out of bed with a walker on day three ( both legs still sliced open in a quadruple fasciotomy) Aaron was an athlete. He played Volleyball with me, had just joined my cheerleading squad and was a fantastic gymnast. Fantastic. How was he supposed to start his adult life with such a sudden shift in lifestyle? To go from a kid so active he was pulled from public school to being wheelchair-bound?
I remember being in a very crowded room hearing the President declare war and thinking how stupid and silly war seemed now that my brother was paralyzed.

I remember the doctor telling us that had Aaron not been in such great shape he should have lost his legs. I also remember him leaving the hospital, and being carried in the house.
I remember physical therapy.
I remember him relearning to walk.
I remember Aaron going to ground zero that January to help clean up the wreckage. I remember when Aaron received his cheerleading scholarship to Southwest Missouri State that next fall. I remember Aaron going on to teach boys gymnastics for at least 5 years.

Not all memories are bad.
Now I remember what it's like to almost lose someone.

I love you Aaron, thanks for being more than a memory.