February 5, 2008

"Corey, you never talk." "Corey, you need to talk to people more often." "Corey, say something!"

I am often accused of not talking enough, and because of this, there is much that I haven't said to anyone, specifically regarding the events of February 5, 2008. So for all you who have anxiously poked at me trying to get me to talk, here you go:

Was I scared?

Ha. Haha what a question. For those of you who keep saying, "It must have been so scary," you have no idea. The fear that was built inside of me is completely and utterly indescribable. While some of this fear was numbed away from the complete shock of the situation, and some of it wasn't there because of my lack of knowledge of the situation, I was still more scared than I have ever been. Unless something similar to this has happened to you, it is so hard to understand exactly what our family went through. We sat in our pajama clothes in a hospital waiting room while doctors frantically worked to save the life of our son and brother, David. We were completely oblivious to the medical dilemma he was in, and the fear of the unknown had taken a tight grip on all of us. Please understand, while we say now that we read Bible verses and prayed together, we were way too frightened to be able to truly rely on these words. All we could think about was the 19 year old stud athlete, who had the whole world in front of him, lying in a hospital bed, body broken and bruised. The fear we possessed is completely indescribable, but I will make my best attempt:


I realize how scared we become when we know that we might, and probably will, lose something or someone that means something to us. Well I knew for sure that anyone who was hit directly with an EF 4 tornado was going to be long gone before any human intervention was possible. So as I rode in the back seat of a car with my mom, dad, sister, and soccer coach, I knew that it was over for David. I knew that on that night, I was riding in a car counting down the minutes until we got the call. And every time the phone rang, I told myself, "This is it. This is the call. The call that all five of us have been praying not to receive. But it is here." Well with every phone call that came, the news did not come. Part of me was relieved with each call, yet part of me knew that the one important phone call was inevitably coming, and that it was coming soon.

While in the car, I didn't listen to my iPod. I didn't use my phone. I sat in numb silence, staring out the window, trying to figure out what was going on. However, I was too scared to think, so I just sat for what seemed like days and days. And from the time we got in the car at the Walmart parking lot in Lookout Valley to the time we pulled into the Jackson- Madison County General Hospital, I didn't say a word. I couldn't help but think that the same person who had run miles upon miles on a soccer field, who had led his team to the State Final Four, and who had taught me how to play soccer was now crumbled into a ball with a building on top of him. It was all so surreal to me. Well I made it through that night, but purely on adrenaline. The same was true with the 8 days that we spent in Jackson, and the many, many nights spent in Chattanooga in a hospital.

And thus ends my account of February 5, 2008, the night that changed the lives of my brother and my family forever.