I would give anything to go back to July 7, 2001, and instead of going with my boyfriend to meet his parents in Hartford, Alabama, I would drive to the lake and pick up my children. That way they would not be returning home with their father, and my 15 year-old daughter would not be driving the SUV on the interstate with the cruise control set, and the car beside her would not suddenly cut her off, and she would not swerve, and the car would not roll and roll and roll and roll and roll and roll, and her 8 year-old brother’s legs would not flop through the window against the hot pavement, and the glass would not slice skin and muscle and the steel would not shred bone, and the car’s weight would not stop against concrete, my 13 year-old daughter's head wedged between.
No tourniquets would be made from Good Samaritan’s silk ties. No volunteers would heave together to lift the car from my daughter's forehead. No helicopters would fly anyone anywhere, especially to emergency surgical teams called in and waiting. No decisions would be made about amputation. No spinal cord injury or broken neck.
No scars would remain today because there would be no wounds.
That’s what I would do if I could do anything over.