What a beautiful story of how hope can provide us with healing that reaches beyond the physical.
About a month before my 16th birthday, my family went on a road trip across the United States to visit some Church history sites. I didn’t mind being in the car for so long because my family always had a good time. I remember getting in the car the day after we visited Winter Quarters, Nebraska. It was raining like crazy. I got in the back seat, grabbed a blanket, and curled up to listen to the rain as I fell asleep.
The next thing I remember was feeling like I was spinning out of control. Later I learned that our car had hydroplaned and crashed into the cement barrier under an overpass. I vaguely remember someone telling me I’d broken my leg and was heading into surgery.
Soon after that while I was recovering in the hospital, my dad came into my room. He sat down next to me on my bed and reached for my hand. Somehow I felt I already knew what he was going to say.
“Honey,” he said, “do you know where you are?”
“In the hospital,” I replied.
“Do you know what happened?”
“We were in a car accident.”
“Has anyone told you about the rest of the family?”
I paused and then answered no.
He said that everyone was going to be OK—except for my mom. She didn’t make it.