Scot Sokolowski
06-19-2014, 02:23 AM
Moving Day
December 21, 1995, a day that almost twenty years later remains fixed in my memory; it was a day of bittersweet excitement. After six long years of being in foster care, my younger brother, Tim, and I were being adopted and moving to our new home. The days of living in constant uncertainty were finally going to be over and we were going to have the family we had lost so many years ago. Even though I was leaving behind some of the best friends I would ever have, I looked forward with nervous anticipation to the new life that lay ahead of us. How was I supposed to know that I would nearly lose my brother in a car accident and be shown one of the most selfless acts of kindness that I would ever experience, and be forever changed by the events of that day? I almost lost everything, but with that near loss came a greater understanding of myself and a renewed faith in people, which I don’t think I would have today if these events didn’t unfold as they did.
Staring into the empty room that had been my bedroom for the last two years, I let out a long sigh; I was moving again and hopefully for the last time. Hefting the last of my bags, I turned and headed downstairs to wait for the social worker, Amy, to bring my nine year-old brother, Tim, and me to our new home, our new family. Adding my bag to the miniscule pile that had formed at the bottom of the stairs, a collection of things I had managed to hold on to over the last 6 years of bouncing from home to home, I headed for the front porch to sit and wait for my ride. I may have only lived at that home for the last 2 years, but I felt as if that small town had been my home forever. While reminiscing over the last few years, stories for another time, our passage to another life arrived and off we went. As we got on the highway I looked back one last time to my home and the friends, the kind of which I would never have again, and with nervous acceptance, I settled back into the seat, ready for what lay ahead.
The towns passed by for the next 2 hours, and the winter skies were growing ever cloudier as we neared our destination, Binghamton, where we were to meet up with our new “Mom”, Judy, and two of our new siblings, and then continue the drive to our new life. To kill time I laughed and played around with Tim, since I couldn’t let him know I was as nervous as him; it was my job to stay strong and lead by example, as I had done for all the years prior.
By the time we arrived at the prearranged meeting place, the snow was falling heavily, and huge flakes just seemed to stick to everything. We transferred our belongings into the awaiting mini-van, said our goodbyes to Amy, and after climbing into the front seat, we were on our way. The mini-van was full; Judy and I sat up front and the three kids sat in the far back with our stuff crammed into every possible spot. After about an hour the roads were becoming covered with hard packed snow which didn’t seem to be letting up. I was nervous about the weather, but as boredom set in I started to doze, figuring it would be the best way to make this trip end sooner. I awoke to the chatter of the kids in the back and the sound of the Christian music playing on the radio. Looking around, I noticed traffic was plugging along at what felt like a snail’s pace. After coming up behind an overly cautious driver, Judy decided to pass, and as we moved into the next lane, I felt the van start to slide. Fishtailing left and right, the van kept moving further and further off track when, all at once, we went sideways. Looking out my window, all I remember seeing was the ominous sight of a tractor trailer’s passenger headlight and the string of runner lights that followed it. I had just enough time to say, “This is going to hurt!!” Then the rig plowed me in the shoulder dead-on. I began feeling an immense pressure that engulfed me, and the world went black.
Moments later, looking out the glassless hole that was once my passenger window, I noticed the van had ended up in the emergency lane. I could hear Judy’s voice and it sounded muffled and distant, “Where’s Tim?”
With that one question, the world snapped back and I was aware of everything, I threw myself out what was left of my door, landing in the snow face first. Leaping to my feet I desperately looked for my brother, afraid of the worst. Looking back in the van I saw him slouched low in the back seat with both my new brother and sister next to him, crying in pain. Without thinking, I climbed back into the van through the mangled side door, and kicked out what was left of the window. Looking at Marina, my new sister, I saw small shards of safety glass sticking out of her blood strewn face. I told her that everything would be okay and decided there wasn’t anything I could do to help her in that moment, fearing I would only lodge the glass shards deeper into her skin if I touched her. Then, looking to Matt, my new brother, I saw that he had a huge lump on the side of his head and blood trickled from the cut in the center of it. Grabbing a sock from my clothes, which now were tossed around the vehicle, I pressed it to his head and yelled at him to hold it there and not move. Turning my attention to my brother, Tim, I noticed a strange color had come over him, he wasn’t moving, and I couldn’t see him breathing. I reached out to feel for a pulse and felt….. NOTHING!!!!!
Not thinking, only reacting, I started to give him CPR, an action that had been drilled countless times into my head from Boy Scouts. This was an action we would complain about and hate doing every time we practiced first-aid, only now I wasn’t practicing. After what seemed to be an eternity, Tim jerked, and to my relief, started breathing and moving again. I screamed at him not to leave me, that he was all I had left and that there was no way I would let him die on me. I noticed a murmur coming from the back of the van. While I had been fighting to save Tim, a group of passersby had opened the back hatch of the van, removed what was there and were praying. The sound of their voices was a steady chant of hope, and I would not stop my barrage of threats and pleas to Tim. I refused to move until the paramedics arrived and pulled me from the van, where my brother’s life was now out of my hands. Standing by the ambulance, I reached for one of my cigarettes, only to find they were all broken, the pack having been crushed in my pocket during impact. Later, people who saw the mangled van would ask if the passenger had survived and with a slight chuckle I would reply, “Yes I did. Not even a scratch.”
We were all taken to the hospital in Sydney, NY; I don’t remember much of the craziness that went on there. My brother was Medivac’d to Albany Medical, and Matt and Marina were put into an ambulance to the same place. There was only room in the ambulance for one more person. I do recall telling Judy to go, telling her they were her kids and there was nothing more I could do for Tim, and that I would catch up with everyone when I could and not to worry about me. She handed me her credit card and what cash she had on her and reluctantly got into the ambulance. I called the State Police, cab companies, and even limo services, but nobody would bring me to Albany to get to my brother, so I sat and waited and wondered, “Why?” Why had the day that was supposed to be the beginning of a new, carefree life taken such a drastic turn? Why was my last living family member laying near death so far away? Hadn’t we suffered enough over the last 6 years? As I sat there doubting if there was a shred of good left in the world, a man entered the hospital with his wife and sick infant. Upon hearing my story, he approached me, looked me square in the eyes and said that when he was done at the hospital with his daughter, he would take me to get his brother and his four wheel drive truck and drive me to Albany. I felt utter shock and confusion by what he was saying. After all, this was a perfect stranger who was willing to drive 100 miles from home his home, in a blizzard, to get me to my brother. This act of kindness seemed so unreal and foreign to me. I offered him money; anything I could think of to repay his kindness, but all he said was to send him a Christmas card telling him what happens. As promised, when his infant was done being treated, we got into his car and picked up his brother, and headed down the snow stricken road. This time,as we charged ahead through the storm, I was consumed with no other thoughts but getting to Tim.
Tim spent the next couple of months in a coma at Albany Medical Center, followed by almost 2 years of rehabilitation at Sunny View. He had to learn to walk, talk, eat, pretty much everything from scratch all over again. Tim fought back from this to be one of the top 20 cross country runners in high school, a 3.8 GPA in college, and now is happily married, has two wonderful kids and is a paralegal. All this from a boy the doctors said might never be able to live on his own due to the brain trauma that occurred from the accident. I am so proud of him and wonder every day if I would have had the strength to bounce back as he has.
Here I sit almost 20 years later writing this story, reliving each moment in my head as I have done countless times before. As for myself, what happened to me over the years that followed is best left for another time. What I can tell you is that it may have taken many years for the lessons I learned that day to take hold, but I find myself having a greater appreciation for life and all its wonders good or bad. Had I not experienced extreme sorrow and unbridled fear, I wouldn’t be able to feel joy and have the courage to face life and the many pitfalls that come with it head on. As far as that gentleman who drove me so many miles out of his way, he got his Christmas card! Not only did he get me to my brother, but he also gave me a renewed hope in humanity, showing me that even though there are so many uncaring and selfish people in the world, that it is the job of the good at heart to work twice as hard at helping those who need it without asking for a anything in return.
Further, I want to give others the feeling that the selfless man at the hospital gave me that day when he brought me to my brother’s side. It is my goal to return similar favors to others and also teach my son about the importance of helping others, hoping that when he’s older, he will engage in similar acts of kindness. As Paulo Coelho so adeptly once said, “There are moments when troubles enter our lives and we can do nothing to avoid them. But they are there for a reason. Only when we have overcome them will we understand why they were there.” Without the challenges that people must endure in life, people would not be able to fully enjoy the journey they embark on, full of its own unique path of trials and tribulations. It is only after these toils that one can fully embrace the beauty that exists in every day simple pleasures. My own journey, thus far, has taught me much about the beauty in the simple pleasures that exist if one is willing to take the time to appreciate them.
December 21, 1995, a day that almost twenty years later remains fixed in my memory; it was a day of bittersweet excitement. After six long years of being in foster care, my younger brother, Tim, and I were being adopted and moving to our new home. The days of living in constant uncertainty were finally going to be over and we were going to have the family we had lost so many years ago. Even though I was leaving behind some of the best friends I would ever have, I looked forward with nervous anticipation to the new life that lay ahead of us. How was I supposed to know that I would nearly lose my brother in a car accident and be shown one of the most selfless acts of kindness that I would ever experience, and be forever changed by the events of that day? I almost lost everything, but with that near loss came a greater understanding of myself and a renewed faith in people, which I don’t think I would have today if these events didn’t unfold as they did.
Staring into the empty room that had been my bedroom for the last two years, I let out a long sigh; I was moving again and hopefully for the last time. Hefting the last of my bags, I turned and headed downstairs to wait for the social worker, Amy, to bring my nine year-old brother, Tim, and me to our new home, our new family. Adding my bag to the miniscule pile that had formed at the bottom of the stairs, a collection of things I had managed to hold on to over the last 6 years of bouncing from home to home, I headed for the front porch to sit and wait for my ride. I may have only lived at that home for the last 2 years, but I felt as if that small town had been my home forever. While reminiscing over the last few years, stories for another time, our passage to another life arrived and off we went. As we got on the highway I looked back one last time to my home and the friends, the kind of which I would never have again, and with nervous acceptance, I settled back into the seat, ready for what lay ahead.
The towns passed by for the next 2 hours, and the winter skies were growing ever cloudier as we neared our destination, Binghamton, where we were to meet up with our new “Mom”, Judy, and two of our new siblings, and then continue the drive to our new life. To kill time I laughed and played around with Tim, since I couldn’t let him know I was as nervous as him; it was my job to stay strong and lead by example, as I had done for all the years prior.
By the time we arrived at the prearranged meeting place, the snow was falling heavily, and huge flakes just seemed to stick to everything. We transferred our belongings into the awaiting mini-van, said our goodbyes to Amy, and after climbing into the front seat, we were on our way. The mini-van was full; Judy and I sat up front and the three kids sat in the far back with our stuff crammed into every possible spot. After about an hour the roads were becoming covered with hard packed snow which didn’t seem to be letting up. I was nervous about the weather, but as boredom set in I started to doze, figuring it would be the best way to make this trip end sooner. I awoke to the chatter of the kids in the back and the sound of the Christian music playing on the radio. Looking around, I noticed traffic was plugging along at what felt like a snail’s pace. After coming up behind an overly cautious driver, Judy decided to pass, and as we moved into the next lane, I felt the van start to slide. Fishtailing left and right, the van kept moving further and further off track when, all at once, we went sideways. Looking out my window, all I remember seeing was the ominous sight of a tractor trailer’s passenger headlight and the string of runner lights that followed it. I had just enough time to say, “This is going to hurt!!” Then the rig plowed me in the shoulder dead-on. I began feeling an immense pressure that engulfed me, and the world went black.
Moments later, looking out the glassless hole that was once my passenger window, I noticed the van had ended up in the emergency lane. I could hear Judy’s voice and it sounded muffled and distant, “Where’s Tim?”
With that one question, the world snapped back and I was aware of everything, I threw myself out what was left of my door, landing in the snow face first. Leaping to my feet I desperately looked for my brother, afraid of the worst. Looking back in the van I saw him slouched low in the back seat with both my new brother and sister next to him, crying in pain. Without thinking, I climbed back into the van through the mangled side door, and kicked out what was left of the window. Looking at Marina, my new sister, I saw small shards of safety glass sticking out of her blood strewn face. I told her that everything would be okay and decided there wasn’t anything I could do to help her in that moment, fearing I would only lodge the glass shards deeper into her skin if I touched her. Then, looking to Matt, my new brother, I saw that he had a huge lump on the side of his head and blood trickled from the cut in the center of it. Grabbing a sock from my clothes, which now were tossed around the vehicle, I pressed it to his head and yelled at him to hold it there and not move. Turning my attention to my brother, Tim, I noticed a strange color had come over him, he wasn’t moving, and I couldn’t see him breathing. I reached out to feel for a pulse and felt….. NOTHING!!!!!
Not thinking, only reacting, I started to give him CPR, an action that had been drilled countless times into my head from Boy Scouts. This was an action we would complain about and hate doing every time we practiced first-aid, only now I wasn’t practicing. After what seemed to be an eternity, Tim jerked, and to my relief, started breathing and moving again. I screamed at him not to leave me, that he was all I had left and that there was no way I would let him die on me. I noticed a murmur coming from the back of the van. While I had been fighting to save Tim, a group of passersby had opened the back hatch of the van, removed what was there and were praying. The sound of their voices was a steady chant of hope, and I would not stop my barrage of threats and pleas to Tim. I refused to move until the paramedics arrived and pulled me from the van, where my brother’s life was now out of my hands. Standing by the ambulance, I reached for one of my cigarettes, only to find they were all broken, the pack having been crushed in my pocket during impact. Later, people who saw the mangled van would ask if the passenger had survived and with a slight chuckle I would reply, “Yes I did. Not even a scratch.”
We were all taken to the hospital in Sydney, NY; I don’t remember much of the craziness that went on there. My brother was Medivac’d to Albany Medical, and Matt and Marina were put into an ambulance to the same place. There was only room in the ambulance for one more person. I do recall telling Judy to go, telling her they were her kids and there was nothing more I could do for Tim, and that I would catch up with everyone when I could and not to worry about me. She handed me her credit card and what cash she had on her and reluctantly got into the ambulance. I called the State Police, cab companies, and even limo services, but nobody would bring me to Albany to get to my brother, so I sat and waited and wondered, “Why?” Why had the day that was supposed to be the beginning of a new, carefree life taken such a drastic turn? Why was my last living family member laying near death so far away? Hadn’t we suffered enough over the last 6 years? As I sat there doubting if there was a shred of good left in the world, a man entered the hospital with his wife and sick infant. Upon hearing my story, he approached me, looked me square in the eyes and said that when he was done at the hospital with his daughter, he would take me to get his brother and his four wheel drive truck and drive me to Albany. I felt utter shock and confusion by what he was saying. After all, this was a perfect stranger who was willing to drive 100 miles from home his home, in a blizzard, to get me to my brother. This act of kindness seemed so unreal and foreign to me. I offered him money; anything I could think of to repay his kindness, but all he said was to send him a Christmas card telling him what happens. As promised, when his infant was done being treated, we got into his car and picked up his brother, and headed down the snow stricken road. This time,as we charged ahead through the storm, I was consumed with no other thoughts but getting to Tim.
Tim spent the next couple of months in a coma at Albany Medical Center, followed by almost 2 years of rehabilitation at Sunny View. He had to learn to walk, talk, eat, pretty much everything from scratch all over again. Tim fought back from this to be one of the top 20 cross country runners in high school, a 3.8 GPA in college, and now is happily married, has two wonderful kids and is a paralegal. All this from a boy the doctors said might never be able to live on his own due to the brain trauma that occurred from the accident. I am so proud of him and wonder every day if I would have had the strength to bounce back as he has.
Here I sit almost 20 years later writing this story, reliving each moment in my head as I have done countless times before. As for myself, what happened to me over the years that followed is best left for another time. What I can tell you is that it may have taken many years for the lessons I learned that day to take hold, but I find myself having a greater appreciation for life and all its wonders good or bad. Had I not experienced extreme sorrow and unbridled fear, I wouldn’t be able to feel joy and have the courage to face life and the many pitfalls that come with it head on. As far as that gentleman who drove me so many miles out of his way, he got his Christmas card! Not only did he get me to my brother, but he also gave me a renewed hope in humanity, showing me that even though there are so many uncaring and selfish people in the world, that it is the job of the good at heart to work twice as hard at helping those who need it without asking for a anything in return.
Further, I want to give others the feeling that the selfless man at the hospital gave me that day when he brought me to my brother’s side. It is my goal to return similar favors to others and also teach my son about the importance of helping others, hoping that when he’s older, he will engage in similar acts of kindness. As Paulo Coelho so adeptly once said, “There are moments when troubles enter our lives and we can do nothing to avoid them. But they are there for a reason. Only when we have overcome them will we understand why they were there.” Without the challenges that people must endure in life, people would not be able to fully enjoy the journey they embark on, full of its own unique path of trials and tribulations. It is only after these toils that one can fully embrace the beauty that exists in every day simple pleasures. My own journey, thus far, has taught me much about the beauty in the simple pleasures that exist if one is willing to take the time to appreciate them.