Through My Eyes:

April 2^nd, 2004:  I woke up and went through my normal routine of getting dressed for work and getting Ryan and Cullen dressed for school. We all got ready and walked out the door. I remember leaning down and giving both of the boys a hug, a kiss and a noogie and telling them I loved them and to be careful and have a fun day at school.

The boys headed down the street for their bus stop.

 Normally, I hop on my bike and ride beside them to the bus stop then rev the bike up for them and round the corner and head on to work, but today I went in the opposite direction.  To this very day, I hate myself for making that mistake.  It kills me inside knowing that because of one miniscule decision, my son’s life has forever been changed and he has paid a hefty price.

I arrived at work and went through the normal morning routine of making sure the truck was ready to go. I remember standing in front of the shop talking to my supervisor and the owner of the company when the office lady came running out and told me that I needed to get home “right now”. I asked what the problem was and she told me that it had something to do with the boys. I darted for my bike when I overheard her telling my boss that “it was bad, real bad”. This put things in high gear.  I jumped on the bike and headed for home, my guts wrenching inside. 

I remember coming to the main intersection and the light was red, a Deputy Sheriff car stopped at the red light. I drove around him and through the light and he never chased me. This scared me more. I knew something had to be pretty bad.

As I rounded the corner, one street away from our street, I saw the helicopter lifting off and I immediately felt my face fluster and my heart sink. All I could think was “oh God, please...”. I came up on the scene, several police cars blocking the way an ambulance on the left of the road, a recycling truck on the right.  I pulled the bike into a driveway, got off and ran over to one of the police I recognized.  I kept asking “Gary, where are my boys?”.  Gary kept saying “they’re gonna be okay”, but I knew it was deeper than that. 

I don’t remember getting from the scene to home. The last thing I remember was looking at the garbage truck.  I remember pulling the bike into the yard and getting off and running into the house and putting my arms around Christie and telling her I was sorry. 

The officer on scene told us that the boys would be going to Daytona’s Halifax Medical Center E.R.  She looked at us and told us only one of us needed to stay for the moment. Christie told me to go, so I got on my bike and looked at the police officer and told her I wasn’t stopping for anyone.  He bike wouldn’t start. We later saw this as a blessing. At the time, I was in no condition to make that ride.

I remember the ride to Halifax in Daytona seemed so long and I remember feeling like I was dying inside.

We arrived at the hospital in Daytona and I went to the E.R. and first saw Ryan and he seemed okay, but seemed in shock.  I was relieved that he was okay.  The doctors starting explaining to us that it didn’t look good for Cullen and that they had stabilized him best they could.  There was a team flying from Orlando to pick him up and fly him the ORMC for surgery. They told us the chances of him even making the flight weren’t good and that it was likely he wouldn’t survive.

While the Pastor and his wife, were talking to Christie. I had one of the E.R. techs, pull back to cover over Cullen and show me the bandages and wounds. I’ll never forget seeing those blood soaked bandages. That was my son’s blood! I kept praying to myself that God would just please take care of my boy.

I loved all the kids the same, but me and Cullen had a bond that didn’t seem to be there with the others. Cullen was only 3 years old when Christie and I married, so I imagine that has a lot to do with it.

Christie was able to ride along in the helicopter to Orlando.  Her step-dad let me use his car to drive to Orlando.  I drove to the interstate and sat and prayed that Cullen would be okay. I refused to drive any further until I saw the helicopter fly past. Once it did, I continued to Orlando, flashers on and my heart racing. It was the longest 30 minutes of my life.

By the time I arrived at the E.R., we were ushered to a private counseling area and a chaplain was doing his best to console us.  I don’t remember anything he said or what happened next but I know the 10 hours we spent in the surgical waiting area were the longest of my life.  I remember hearing one of the surgeons say he’d never seen anything like it in his life, and I remember them telling us they didn’t think he’d make it through the night.  We refused to accept it and just continued to pray. 

The very next day was kind of a blur for me.  Between attempting to process everything going on and all the family coming in, and of all the times for something else to happen, I’d started hurting really badly in my back and the pain was making it’s way around my side. Christie and my family talked me into going to the E.R. to see what the problem was.  I did so that Saturday night. Turns out, I was passing kidney stones.  The E.R nurse recognized me from the day before as Cullen’s parent and gave me a shot of something that knocked me out.  The next morning, I woke up and was given some pain medication to make it through until the stone completely passed.  That entire week was foggy for me.

The next few weeks and months was also a haze. Christie and her mom stayed with Cullen at the PICU and I stayed as long as I could. The first month the kids were able to go to family and I was able to be with Cullen and Christie, but soon, I had to take the other kids home and start getting them into somewhat of a normal routine.

I don’t really know what else to write about.  I don’t have all the figures on Cullen’s surgeries or his rehab.  All I know is that his life will forever be changed and it could have been prevented in so many ways.  The driver could have paid attention to what he was doing.  We could have stayed in Alabama and never moved to Florida. I could have driven along beside them that morning on April 2^nd.  I should have driven along beside them that morning.

For the first year after the accident I had nightmares about the accident. I don’t have nightmares anymore. I just don’t dream anymore.  I still cry at night when I think about that day and I still can hardly talk about it out loud; writing about it is hard enough.

All I know, is I love that boy as if he was my own and his life was changed.  I blame the driver of that truck.  I blame the company for hiring that driver. I blame the city for not having sidewalks in that neighborhood. I blame myself.

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Since writing this, Cullen has been through about 76 surgeries in total and by God's grace is WALKING on his own!!! 

Satan used this time of trial and stress and tore my marriage apart, but I still have the love of these beautiful children. Cullen's passion and zest for life and his unwillingness to give up has inspired my life trememdously. If I ever feel I'm getting depressed, I'm reminded of what Cullen went thourgh and never complained, and then I'm reminded of what Jesus went through and never complained. What right do I have to complain?