This is a piece by me about Post Traumatic Stress Disorder suffered after a car wreck. It originally appeared on BLUNTmoms.
I remember seeing trees.
The feeling of flying.
Flying toward the damn trees.
This was how it would all end for me. My worst nightmare coming true on that highway with my 18 month old in the backseat. What a stupid way to die, I thought. My hands gripped the steering wheel as my vehicle spun through the air. I braced myself for the inevitable as the trees got closer, panicked for my son and what would happen to him.
We hit the guardrail, the passenger side snuggled up as close as it could get. The barrier saved us from plummeting head first off the overpass into the trees at least 50 feet below us. I couldn’t register what happened, just that we stopped flying and it smelled strongly of metal and smoke. The airbag deployed and I was covered in powder, my to-go cup of coffee from lunch spilled everywhere. My son screaming in his car seat jolted me back to reality and I cautiously opened my door to get him while vehicles sped past at 65 miles per hour.
A woman frantically ran toward me while calling 911. She looked so relieved to see that I was okay, and then terrified when she heard my son crying. It must have looked as bad as it felt. She watched for cars as I unbuckled him and gingerly lifted him out of his seat. He was physically fine but emotionally shaken. The next thing I knew, we were being escorted to another woman’s car, her soothing voice telling me the police and ambulance would be there soon.