Forty-five minutes later he wasn't back. He wasn't answering his phone. When my dad got home he and my sister went out looking for him. She got a call while they were on their way. There had been an accident. As they pulled up on the scene the ambulance was pulling away.
He had laid down the bike. Slammed into a rock wall. He hit the wall so hard his glove flew off. Thank God he was wearing a helmet. He destroyed his knee. He was nearly unrecognizable under the road rash. When I took my oldest niece to see him in the hospital she wouldn't go near him. I didn't even see him the first day he was in the hospital.
Personally I think someone hit him. He can't even remember what happened. It was a windy road that kids speed down all the time. I think they ran him off the road and kept on going. Somebody called the ambulance and when they got there he was laying in the middle of the road and there was no one around. So who called the ambulance? And why the heck didn't they stop? We will never get those answers, but I wish we could.
This started a four year long journey for my sister and her family. A journey they are still working through. My brother in law is fully recovered now but it took him multiple surgeries and a year long recovery process. I thank God everyday that it wasn't worse. That he did have that helmet on. That who ever called the ambulance DID call, whatever their motivation.
This post is a part of Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop.