“Hi Sis. I just got off the phone with Barb. A car fell on Jon.”
That’s not the phone call you expect when you’re on your way to a wedding.
That’s the phone call that makes you forget how to breathe.
I had just called my brother Jon the day before. Close in age, the two of us had grown us as best friends and virtual twins. We were now separated by 800 miles. I’d called to tell him my husband Ernie, our kids and I were driving from Grand Rapids Michigan to Tulsa Oklahoma for my stepson’s wedding. Jon and his wife Barb lived in Kansas City. We hadn’t seen them in over a year, but it was too far out of the way. We wouldn’t be seeing them again this year.
But a car fell on Jon. My only brother had been flattened by a broken-down hunk of metal.
My brain literally stopped working. Instead it started gasping.
There I was in the car, my husband Ernie behind the wheel shouting at me “Do I need to pull over?” My sister was on the cellphone screaming “He’s alive! He’s conscience!” and there was me in the middle gulping for air like a fish out of water, tears gushing like a fountain, repeating “Oh my God! Oh my God!” over and over.
In the back seat, the kids were all eerily silent for once. I’m sure they found their mother’s current mental state both frightening and fascinating.
My mind had defaulted to worst case scenarios: my brother was brain dead. He was paralyzed. He would spend the next few months in a hospital bed, in agony, and then die from his injuries. The loop played over and over, blocking out any other options. My sister had little information to counter my fears.
There was nothing we could do. Well, there was a LOT for ME to do. Panic. Cry. Worry. Shake. Replay the loop again and again.
Pray.
That option finally surfaced. Ernie pulled the van over and prayed for Jon and his family. And for me. Then, he drove us on toward Tulsa. There was nothing we could do to help Jon, and we still had a wedding to attend.
As the hours ticked by, phone calls trickled in.
Jon was in the ICU. The car had come down on his head and upper body. He was alive, and in and out of consciousness. When he was awake, he was talking cohesively. He was in pain and shock. There were fractures. Many, many fractures. His head, his chest, his shoulder…
I’m sorry to say, I don’t remember the wedding too well. The bride and groom were very understanding about it. They were aghast when they heard about Jon and shoed us out the door shortly after the “I do’s”, wishing us God speed, and Jon good health. We apologized profusely. This was Ernie’s oldest son’s wedding after all. He waved us off, assuring us he understood. We’d been there for him. Now we needed to be there for Jon.
Five hours later, we were walking into Jon’s hospital room. He was propped up in bed, looking very bruised and battered. His eyes were not quite working together, in a Peter Falk kind of way, but he smiled a little when he saw us.
“Hi Sis.” He greeted.
I shook my head. “Man, the stupid things you do just to get us to visit.” And then I started crying again. Then, he cried. Barb and Ernie cried. The kids stared at us, not caring for hospitals and unsure of how to respond.
We finally heard the whole story. Jon had been at his father-in-law Charles’ house working under his car. The jack holding the car up slipped and down came the vehicle on Jon. Charles got the jack back in place and cranked up. Meanwhile, Jon was wiggling his feet to let Charles know he was alive. Charles thought it was a sign of neurological shut down and Jon was brain dead. But once the car was off him, Jon actually tried to sit up. He passed out from the pain.
In the ER, they’d assessed his condition: multiple skull fractures. His shoulder was shattered. Nearly every rib on his left side had cracks and hairline breaks.
“How many fractures?”
“They lost count at 164.”
“What about your eye? Can they fix that?”
Barb shook her head. “We asked them, and they aren’t going to touch it. There’s multiple fractures to his skull. A lot are around the eye socket. But they’re all in place. None of the pieces have shifted any. If they try to go in, they’re going to move the pieces around and mess things up. They’re thinking as the swelling goes down and the fractures heal, his eye will realign, and his vision will be back to how it was.” She teared up again. “The doctors can’t figure it out! They keep coming in staring at him! He should be dead! He was pinned under a car! He should have been crushed, there should have been brain damage! There should be internal injuries! But look at him! He’s ok!”
I looked at my brother sitting there in the hospital bed, sheepishly staring back at us. He had a line of stitches in his scalp where his head had been gouged down to the bone. His face was bruised and a little swollen. The askew eye stared slightly off to the left of center. A plastic shield protected his chest. His right arm was immobilized.
That was it. No body cast. No amputated limbs. No brain damage. No paralysis. No permanent disfigurement.
A car had fallen on him.
164 fractures.
And 8 days after the accident, Jon was discharged from the hospital.
Life did not immediately return to normal. My brother was on disability for nearly four months as his ribs, vision and shoulder healed. During that time, his family was engulfed by friends and family pitching in to help out physically, spiritually, and financially. Doctors rebuilt his shoulder and his vision returned. Still, he suffers from periodic migraines and he can’t read for extended periods of time. He also lost a few of his character voices he used in his church’s puppet ministry. There’s a scar on his forehead that’s only noticeable if you specifically look for it.
But he is very much alive.
Psalms 113:11 says “You who fear the LORD, trust in the LORD; He is their help and their shield.” God was definitely holding a shield over my brother that day.
There are people who have the audacity to tell me they don’t believe in God. They claim that if there is a God, he doesn’t care. I stare at them in amazement and shake my head.
“Hey, have I ever told you about my brother?”