In a soft-falling snow this happened. Out of a sky of banked clouds like soiled snow. And my voice raised in disbelief, and in fury—No! God damn you NO.
But there came at once the impact, the front of my vehicle slamming against the rear of the vehicle in front of me, at some speed below fifty miles an hour, but not much below; and the two vehicles skidding, spinning like bumper cars at a carnival; and almost immediately a third vehicle, unseen by me until then, a station wagon driven by a young woman with her elderly mother in the passenger’s seat was struck by our skidding vehicles, and swerved also onto the median, and came to a thunderous crash against the guardrail.
No time to think—I am in a crash. I will die.
No time to pray—Jesus help me! God help me!
So swiftly this happened, my vehicle had skidded into the others, and the vehicle like the others would be totaled, metal crumpled like an accordion; and there came the terrible impact, and then—silence like the silence after a thunderclap, that has rent the sky.
Then, cries of surprise, fear, pain . . .
In the confusion it seemed that my vehicle had exploded, this was the air bag striking my chest and upper arms, and releasing too some sort of acid, that would badly burn my face. And it seemed at this point that I lost consciousness, for my head had been whipped forward, as if it might be flung off my neck, and a sour taste arose in my mouth, of bile. And then, I was no longer behind the wheel but had been flung outside onto the pavement. It would be told to me that I had unbuckled the seat belt but I would not recall this. I would recall crawling on hands and knees on the freezing pavement, and trying to crawl in broken glass, or in something shattered like Plexiglas, and my mouth was filled with blood, and a pressure on my chest would not allow me to breathe.
Out of the confusion came cries and shouts, and footsteps near my head, and soon then a deafening siren, and I knew myself being lifted but had no idea where I would be taken. I could not see and yet, a jangle of blinding lights flooded my eyes, and I could not breathe, and yet my lungs were being made to breathe a freezing-cold air that pierced my chest.
In a speeding vehicle, I was being transported to a hospital in Springfield which is eighteen miles away. At the time, I did not know this. Nor did I understand that it was a crash that had occurred. I did not know that other vehicles were taking other crash victims to the hospital—I did not know the word for ambulance, or for hospital. What was strange was, and would seem wonderful to me, I did not feel fear. I did not feel panic. I did not even feel regret except a mild disappointment, that I would not now be going home as I had planned; I would not see my dear family again nor any human face again, it was given to me to know. And a beam of light descended before me, that was a kind of highway, for it had taken the place of the highway, and would lift me into it, and still I did not feel terror for—(though I could not see Him)—I felt the presence of Jesus within me.
It would seem to me—(though I did not ever see Him with my actual eyes)—that my life was “saved” by Jesus; at the same time, it was given to me to know that my life was in Jesus, and that there was no distinction between Jesus and Luther Dunphy.
And so, there was no fear. It was like slipping into water that is warm, and tranquil—you cannot tell where your skin leaves off, and where the water begins. And the water buoys you aloft, as if you were an infant with no need for an agitation of your arms and legs or for any kind of fear.
For how long I remained in this state of tranquility and calm, I do not know. It would be told to me later that I had arrived in the ER unconscious and with low blood pressure, in a state of shock. It would be told to me later, the terrible news that others had died in the crash, though there was another survivor like myself, in the same hospital; and that I was on life support for forty-eight hours.