Trains Don't Stop

Early the next morning, the investigator called me, woke me out of the dead (no pun intended) sleep. He told me they interview everyone who is involved in a train/car accident, well, when there's someone left to interview. Apparently a tape of our conversation exists in some national accident archives. After the official accounting was over, he asked me "off the record" how I'd managed to be hit by a train. Was I rushing home to watch Monday Night Football? I have to wonder if he's ever heard a satisfactory answer to that question.

The front page newspaper article in the town I lived in proclaimed "Quick Thinking Motorist Saves Woman's Life." I'm still annoyed by that version of the story. Yes, the car coming towards me flashed its lights as it came over the tracks. I thought "What? Are my lights off?" Checked and they were on. Looked around for another moment or two, trying to decipher what their warning was about, then glanced to my right and realized: TRAIN!!

I slammed on the brakes and ended up partway on the tracks. I immediately tried to shove the gear shift into reverse, while flooring the car. (I can't help but imagine how surprised the car behind me would have been if I'd been successful and smashed into them instead.) Throughout it all I had one clear thought: Trains don't stop.

The engineer was blowing his whistle. Yes, I know you're coming. I am quite sure you can see I am doing what I can to get out of this mess, before it becomes an even bigger mess. The light from the train shown brightly into my car. I missed reverse and hit park (DAMN!) and as I was yanking it back down to "R," a freight train going an estimated 40-45 MPH hit the front end of the Chrysler that had been my parents' car, then my brother's, then mine.

(Even though I miraculously made it through without injury, in spite of the fact the front seat belt was broken and so I ended up in the back seat, they took me to the ER for X-rays. I didn't want to even tell my parents, but couldn't figure out how to explain the missing car. I called collect from a payphone, told my mom I was OK and so was my infant daughter, but the car was totaled. I swear to god she said "I never did like that car.")

The tracks on that country road run at an angle. Apparently lots of people were hit there before (and I assume after) me. The investigator told me the same engineer had killed someone there about a year before. It takes a while for something that size to come to a stop, even after knocking a car off to the side of the road like some child's plaything. The engineer has to make that walk back, not knowing what he'll find when he gets there. I still feel apologetic about putting him through that. The people in the small town there come out too. They were all standing around in the parking lot we ended up in. Everyone seemed happy we made it. My main question to the government guy was what does it take to get lights or crossing rails? He told me that it's partly determined by how many accidents occur and how many of those accidents result in fatalities. I'd hindered the process somewhat by actually living. It was about 15 more years before they installed lights and gates.

My 6 week old daughter skewed their stats, too. She only woke up long enough to cry for a minute from her car seat. I'm pretty sure she's never had a train phobia, although I still get a jolt of adrenaline at the sound of a train nearby. In those days car seats weren't required; in fact, they were rarely even used. I had brought her home from the hospital in my lap. I was the one who insisted I get a car seat and kept her safely strapped in at all times. OK so in the front seat but obviously without that foresight, the story would have ended more tragically than it did.

I had my dog in the car with me too. She took off running as soon as someone opened the door. The train wreck guy sadly assured me I would never see her again. He said in 20 years of investigating accidents he had never heard of someone finding their dog. Dogs run from fear and by the time they stop they are so far from home you can't find them again. My dog stayed in a nearby corn field. I got her back a day later when someone saw her there and called. I've heard of many other stories where dogs are found after accidents. All I can come up with is he is only hearing what happens immediately afterwards and doesn't realize things can change later on. If I'd had his number I would have called him back and told him he was wrong.

I realize he was just doing his job but I still resent his early morning phone call. I'd barely had any sleep to begin with. Friends picked me up from the ER and I spent many hours at their house that night, finding God. Surely there was a reason I lived through this! Surely God's hand was involved! That only lasts so long before you begin to ask why God would even bother, or if God was bothering, why he couldn't have sent me back into the house to get something else, and made me miss the train entirely?

When the call woke me, I was dreaming about Heaven. It was the only time since his death I have ever dreamt about my brother Steven. I've since read about the place where I saw him in "Life after Death" accounts: all rolling green fields and bright warm sunshine. And a feeling of love and peace so overwhelming that I wanted to cry when I left. I was walking along when I heard him yell "hey LaMountain!" And I turned and said "yeah thanks a lot for leaving me alone to carry on our last name." We held hands and talked and laughed, and the one thing I remember him saying was "Don't forget to write the book."