The first time I heard that the rescue footage was receiving wider attention, I was surprised.
I had assumed the report would remain local.
A short segment about the dangerous weather.
A few pictures of the accident.
Perhaps a warning for people traveling along the highway.
Nothing more.
But the incident had involved several vehicles and a large number of passengers.
The overturned charter bus alone was enough to make the story important.
There had been nearly forty people aboard.
The pickup truck had jackknifed behind it.
And the fuel tanker had been leaning toward the shoulder.
It was the kind of accident that could have ended very differently.
I understood why the news crew wanted to show it.
Still, I hadn't watched the footage.
I was busy.
There were responsibilities to finish, and I didn't want to spend time looking at a recording of something I had just experienced.
The memory was already clear enough.
I remembered climbing onto the bus.
I remembered the emergency hatch.
I remembered helping people through the opening.
Most of all, I remembered the little boy.
His hands had been wrapped tightly around my jacket.
I could still remember the pressure of his fingers.
I hoped he was doing well.
I wondered whether he had been able to enjoy any part of Christmas after that frightening night.
Perhaps he was sitting beside his parents.
Perhaps he was opening presents.
Perhaps the whole family was simply grateful to be together.
That was the thought I preferred.
Then I remembered Walt.
I could still hear his answer when I asked about his family.
Four grandchildren.
The youngest had just learned to walk.
It was such a small thing to tell someone during a dangerous moment.
But it had helped him stay focused.
I had kept asking him questions because I wanted him conscious.
He had answered because he had something worth talking about.
I hoped he had been reunited with those grandchildren.
I hoped the youngest would have another chance to show him how she could walk.
Those were the details I carried from the rescue.
Not the cameras.
Not the attention.
Not the possibility that someone might recognize me.
I had no idea that the footage was becoming something much bigger than a local weather report.
Meanwhile, my family had continued celebrating Christmas.
I knew that much.
I just didn't know what had been said at the dinner table.
I imagined Jason discussing his promotion.
I imagined my father listening.
I imagined the guests enjoying the evening.
Then I stopped.
I didn't want to keep inventing scenes that would only make me feel worse.
My father had made a decision.
I had made mine.
That was where things stood.
I didn't know whether he had told anyone the real reason I wasn't there.
I didn't know whether Jason had asked about me.
I didn't know whether his wife's parents even knew I existed.
I had no answers.
And for once, I wasn't going to chase them.
I put my phone away.
There were people at the base who needed my attention.
I could give them that.
I could do my work.
I could be present where I was wanted.
That was enough for the moment.
Click here to continue reading: PART 15: I Had Spent Years Explaining My Absence to My Family, Never Imagining That One Christmas Night Would Explain Everything Without Me Saying a Word
Three Nights Before Christmas, My Father Made One Phone Call That Changed Where I Would Spend the Holiday
Part 14 of 20
