The Hit

I remember it like it was yesterday. The hour was 2am and I attempted to get in my bed to take a nap before my favorite 4am show. I tossed and turned and sat up and laid back down. Anxiety filled me, but it wasn't coming from me. "Something is really wrong in the Universe," I said. The anxiety rose throughout the hour and hit an all time high at 2:50am. I couldn't call anyone because of the hour, but I wanted to find out if my friends and family were okay. I'd know soon enough, I figured. At 3:00am, I was able to close my eyes, finally feeling calm. My sleep was brief. I woke up at 4:00am and watched Starting Over. Something gnawed at me. At five I watched a bit of the news. The first story was of a fatal accident on I-35N. A drunk driver going the wrong way hit someone head-on, flipping the car and truck. The car burst into flames. Firefighters were on the scene quickly as several calls came in about this wrong-way driver. They pulled the driver out of the car, but he died on scene. I was really struck by this story. It was so close to Christmas. I think they mentioned that he was on his way home for the holidays, but never made it out of San Antonio. I took another nap and woke up an hour later to dress for work.

It was a good day at work. We were released early! I called my ex to see what he was doing and if he wanted to grab lunch or something. He said, "I'm not doing well."

"What's wrong?" I asked, concerned.

"I can't talk about it over the phone. I'm headed to the apartment right now, I'll call you when I get there and you can come over so we can talk."

My mind raced with all sorts of fears about what he wanted to talk about. I went to my old office to visit while I waited. I wanted to see what my friends thought and what was going on with them. I got the call half an hour later that he was home so I headed over to his apartment.

When I arrived, he was on the phone with a friend talking about a patient he just transported who thanked him for treating him like a person and not like an end-stage patient. He told her, "And then THE call I got after that, I had to get home." He ended his call and I hugged him. I asked what was up and he told me about the patient. Then, he said, "You knew Phoenix right?"

"Of course I know Phoenix! I love Phoenix!"

He was upset that I didn't pick up on his hint. "He was killed in a car accident this morning."

"What!"

"He was killed by a drunk driver on 35N. He was on his way home for Christmas."

Waves of shock hit me. The man with the healers touch, the best hugs ever, the most genuine person ever, who treated everyone as though they were the most important in the world and whatever they said mattered was gone.

Anger, rage, sadness, disbelief, all came to me.

At his memorial service, we grieved together. We formed a circle that covered the parking lot and he was at the center. We held our melting white candles in vigil for our friend. I felt that he went to everyone that spoke up sharing memories and such and laughed and hugged them and thanked them for remembering. Then, when the circle broke, Randolph Air Force base played TAPS. Phoenix was in the Air Force. It was the Air Force that brought him here to us...and now, they played him out. A new star shined that night. Phoenix rose from the ashes, guided by our flames.

We later found out that with the crash, the car shouldn't have caught on fire. Phoenix saw the scene, made a decision, and left in flames. He took a quick journey in the tunnel that awaits us all and was greeted with a buffet and festival in the Summerlands.

To my pleasant surprise, his words find their way to my notebooks and even my computer as I wrote in my daily journal. He's guiding me through my journey and I feel closer to him than ever. He is alive. Alive in me.

Phoenix rose from the ashes and took me with him to a new height I never knew existed. It's been Magic ever since.