The Day My Wife Vanished Before My Eyes
ONE YEAR LATER I’M TAKING MY LIFE BACK
This morning, I’m sitting in an airport in Boston.
One year ago today—almost to the same exact minute—I was sitting in what used to be an automobile in the middle of the I-94 expressway in Chicago. Dazed. Confused.
And too scared to be scared.
Chicago Fire and Rescue had just magically snatched my wife from our car like David Copperfield. One minute, she was there. The next, she was on a gurney—gone.
And then, before I even knew what was happening, I stood and watched in shock as they drove her away in an ambulance. Destination unknown.
Condition unknown.
“You really shouldn’t be alive.” Those were the words from the rescue worker. “That Cadillac saved your life. Any other car and you’d have rolled.”
I was too stunned to understand what was taking place. All I knew is that my car was in bits and pieces and scattered over 300 yards along the Chicago Skyway.
Oh, and my wife vanished before my eyes. Did I mention that? “Can you please tell me where they took my wife?” Nothing else mattered. “I’m sorry. I can’t share that information.”
Since our accident took place on an interstate, only the Illinois State Police could share any updates about Cindy’ condition or location—HIPPA laws and all you know.
I can’t make this up.
For the longest 35 minutes of my entire life, I watched and waited as firefighters and tow truck drivers cleaned up the debris wondering, “Where the hell is my wife? What am I going to tell my sons?” I can barely breathe even now as I recall other bits and pieces.
The last thing I remember about seeing Cindy before they swept her away was her going out of consciousness—again—eyes rolling back in her head as the 9-1-1 operator asked me, “Sir, is she breathing?” Was this happening?
Your life can pass before your eyes. That’s not a cliché to me anymore. And when it does, you’re not even sure what’s going on most of the time. It’s an absolute blur that happens so quickly in slow motion. And you can’t make it stop.
This morning, I’m sitting in an airport in Boston.
I’m sitting in the Delta lounge looking at the carmel-colored reflection of my beautiful bride’s face through the glass of my old fashioned. “Yes—she’s breathing.” We’re here together. That’s real magic.
And still, December 28, 2022, took something from me I can’t quite put my finger on. But I woke up at 6:34 am in our hotel and told myself I would finally take that ‘something’ back.
I haven’t been able to write to my 9,000+ Substack subscribers or speak to my podcast listeners in months. Why? I’m not sure. But that’s what I’m going to figure out.
Starting next week, I’m going to tell the story of my recovery—as I live it—in real time. I’m going to define the ‘something’ I lost and the lessons I’ve learned—and am still learning. Let my pain be your gain and guide to personal growth.
I invite you to join the experience—for paid subscribers only.
$1.34 a week.
Much cheaper than an ambulance ride.