Greater Than Simple Kindness

AUTHOR'S NOTE: The events recorded in this story occurred November 17, 2003. Names in this story have been changed.

It began with the buzz of the intercom, interrupting my seventh period class. The secretary called me up to the office “immediately.” Being a straight-A student, I was confused, but made my way up to the office anyway.

I knew something was wrong the minute I looked at Kathy’s face. Her son and I had been friends for years, and we knew each other quite well. She was always a straightforward woman and wasted no time telling me, “Your sister has been in a car accident. They can’t find your mom. You need to talk to the people from the hospital.”

I froze. I was only seventeen years old, how could I be expected to deal with hospital staff? I couldn’t breathe. My mouth was dry. With shaking hands, I reached for the phone and took a deep breath.

“Hello?”

“Are you Laura Smith?”

“Yes.”

“And you have a sister named Leah Smith?”

“Yes.” My confirmation was enough for her. She proceeded to tell me that my sister, Leah, had been in a serious car accident, resulting in a fractured pelvis, a ruptured spleen, and a broken neck. She was very nice to me, the nurse from the hospital.

Her neck broke. Oh, my God. I could barely think. I knew what happened when a person’s neck broke. They died, or they were paralyzed. Oh, God, how could this happen? She’s only nineteen! I flooded the nurse with questions. Was she dead? No, she was alive and in emergency surgery. Was she paralyzed? What happened? The nurse paused, and then told me she couldn’t release that information to me.

Couldn’t release that information? “But I’m her sister!” She refused and again told me they could only release that information to my mother. And there was the problem; they couldn’t find her. I gave her some numbers to call, and then faced the difficult task of breaking the news to my little sister, Elisabeth, who was only fourteen.

After school, Kathy offered to drive Elisabeth and me to the emergency room. The hospital still could not find my mother; however, her friend Paul (who happened to also have the last name ‘Smith’) heard what happened and came to the hospital to be with us. The officer at the hospital, taking his lead from the nurses, had also refused to give me any information.

Paul’s arrival proved to be useful in more ways than one. The staff assumed he was family because of his name, and gave him the information we were waiting for. The situation wasn’t good. An eighteen-year-old girl had run a red light and smashed into the driver’s side of Leah's car. There were only eighteen inches left of the driver’s seat. The other girl walked away with a few cuts and scrapes. The impact snapped Leah’s neck.

Paralyzed. My nineteen-year-old sister was paralyzed. A quadriplegic for the rest of her life. How could this happen? I couldn’t understand it. I still don’t. She and Mom went down to Atlanta, Georgia, to an acute rehab hospital. While they were gone, it fell to me to oversee the remodeling of our house. So much needed to be done so Leah could live with us when she returned.

My mind raced. How was I supposed to do so much? At seventeen years old, I didn’t have a clue where to begin. Frantically I looked up everything I could think of, trying to figure out what would need to be done to remodel the house. There was so much to do, I doubted I could finish it all in time. That’s where my host of angels stepped in.

My family was always Christian, attending church every Sunday, helping those who needed help, and truly living what we believed in. My church emphasized helping others, and that doctrine sprang to life in a truly incredible way. I was flooded with offers of help, contributions, donations of supplies and labor. I was amazed.

We needed to rip up our carpet and put in hardwood flooring downstairs. I was puzzled, as my family had never even discussed doing this. A man in my congregation approached me one day after church and told me he worked for a lumber company. He had told his company of my family’s predicament, and they agreed to donate the supplies for the floor. I was flabbergasted; because of my research, I knew how much hardwood flooring would cost, and it was given to us free of charge. One obstacle was overcome.

The wood had been donated, but we needed help to install it. The man who spoke with me, John, began recruiting other members of the congregation to help put it in. By the time we were ready to begin, he had an entire crew of people at his side. They finished it in two days.

Our family never needed anything that was not provided for us by the giving members of our congregation and the community. Monetary donations, medical equipment, meals, and volunteers flooded our home. They still continue to, even so long after that fateful day. One small act of kindness turned into a tide of sacrifice and generosity, a tide whose influence will affect my family for years to come.