The Final Few

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It started out like any other Tuesday morning, in fact, it started out like any other hell-type of morning. In my zombie-mom-mode I stumbled to the room of the two little demons as I sometimes (most of the time) like to call them. Waking them up for school is about as difficult as finding gold at the end of a rainbow, chances are more likely you’ll end up being stabbed by a unicorn.

After pleading, fights and finally hidings we were in the car, seated and on our way to school. For a single mom of twin boys I was doing one hell of a job, even if I do say so myself. It was a misty morning, which was odd but not odd enough to distract me from the noise and fighting going on behind me. Sometimes I felt like killing them, and yes, I’m a bad mother for saying that. Sometimes I just need a break!

“Can the two of you please behave until we get to school.” I shouted over the Frozen theme song blaring over the speakers.

I turned my head around for a second, a split second and when I turned back to look at the road the 16-wheeler truck came out of nowhere. It was as if things were moving in slow motion yet I didn’t have a spare second to tell my boys I loved them before the impact. Images flashed through my mind, not good ones, ones where I was screaming and yelling for them to pick up their toys, to eat their food, to brush their teeth. Scolding them for getting mud all over the brand new carpet in the living room. I felt ashamed and heart broken.

The car flipped, it must’ve rolled four or five times and then came to a halt on it’s roof. I wanted to scream and ask them if they were okay but the words couldn’t leave my body. I was frozen. And then, the unthinkable happened. I heard my baby cry. I heard him! It was the most beautiful cry I ever heard. I started struggling to get my seat-belt loose but it wouldn’t budge. I heard emergency vehicles in the distance.

“They are coming to save us honey just hold on” I finally pushed out of my mouth and it hurt to talk, to breathe.

I first smelled it and then I saw the smoke. I knew we had to get out of there. A firefighter appeared next to my window. He was dressed in grey and yellow and had an oversized helmet on his head. My God we are not infected with some earth-ending virus I thought.

“Are you alright ma’am”? he asked, concern in his eyes.

For a second I wanted to be sarcastic and ask if I looked alright. I didn’t.

“My children, get them to safety first” I pleaded.

He nodded and ran off and I slowly drifted off to sleep.

I woke up in a soft hospital bed. I first thought it was heaven with the bright lights above me but quickly saw the horrible material used for curtains. A nurse walked in on que and checked my IV. A doctor (his name badge said so) came in after her and pulled a chair closer to my bed.

“Mrs Kemp, how are you feeling”? he asked.

I blinked and swallowed a few times.

“Where’s my boys”?

The doctor looked down to the piece of paper he had in his hand. I frowned. What was going on. Finally he looked up. His face said it before he did.

“Mrs Kemp they…they passed away at the scene, my deepest condolences”.

Condolences? He could take his condolences and stuff it. I wanted my boys. The emptiness I was feeling was overwhelming. I knew at that exact moment that I had taken them for granted and now, now I was going to have to live with the consequences. How could this happen? This is the type of thing you read about in newspapers, tragic hitting families, you never in a million years think it could ever happen to you.

But it did. A week later I was discharged from hospital. I had to go back to our home, now my home and arrange funerals. I was hurt and I was angry. How could God take away the only being that ever made me happy?

To me it felt like my world was ending. If I could go back, I now know not to sweat the small stuff, to live like everyday is your last and to never ever take someone for granted. Today could be the last day they spend with you on this earth.

Dedicated to my grandmother who passed away in  2014. I miss you so much every single day.

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