On May 3, 2009, my heart and body took the most devastating blow I’ve ever experienced.  I woke up in a gurney being rushed down a hospital hallway as if I was in a scene of Grey’s Anatomy.  There was a doctor at my feet and a nurse on either side of me, I was strapped to the bed and felt imprisoned in the neck brace I was wearing.  I didn’t know what was going on, but I knew it wasn’t good and that I had no control over what was happening to me.  When he saw my eyes open, the doctor asked me if I knew what day it was. “Sunday,” I said.  Then he told me I’d been airlifted to ICU because I’d been in a car accident, suffered broken ribs, internal bleeding, and a collapsed lung.  I wiggled my toes, I could feel them. “Good,” I thought to myself, “I’m not paralyzed.”  Then the doctor asked if I could remember where I was going. So I told him I was going where I went every Sunday night, “to work.”   He told me my parents had been contacted and they were on their way, then they left me in the hallway while they prepared me for one of the million tests they ran on me that night.  As I laid there staring at the ceiling (because the neck brace wouldn’t allow me to look anywhere else) my mind started to become a little clearer about the events that took place up until my accident.  I hadn’t been on my way to work, Jordan and I were actually going to see a friend of ours perform spoken word at a show about 30 min away in Charlotte, NC.  My last memory was getting dressed in the bathroom and Jordan came in and said “you’re so beautiful.”  That’s all I could remember.  I searched my head for more answers, but all I found were more questions. Was he in the car with me? Was he driving? Where was he?  As I laid there thinking of more questions, I became overwhelmed with the most overpowering sense of fear that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.  Almost impulsively, I started yelling at the top of my lungs (the best I could with one of them being collapsed) for someone to help me.  A nurse came to me and asked if I was in pain.  I ignored her question and said, “my boyfriend was in the car.  Do you know where he is? Can you take me to him?”  She responded to me, unconvincingly, and said, “I’m sorry Bonita, I’m not aware of any other passengers with you in the car.”  Although, I didn’t have proof that she was lying to me, something in my spirit told me that wasn’t the truth and I continued to yell emphatically, “somebody please help me find my boyfriend!”  Eventually they put me into a private room, so that I would stop disturbing the other patients.

My best friend, Bristal, was the first person to make it to the hospital.  By the time she reached me I had tired myself out from yelling to people who weren’t answering me and just laid there still staring at the ceiling.  She didn’t know I could see her stop and cry in the hospital doorway before she got herself together enough to come in and talk to me.  When she reached my bed, she asked me how I was doing, I responded by asking if she knew where Jordan was.  She told me she wasn’t sure and asked me if there was anything that I needed.  I asked, “Will you pray?”  She did.  She prayed for my health, my heart, and God’s comfort.  Not once did she pray that Jordan would be okay, and that’s when I knew for certain he was gone.

The next familiar face I saw was my big sister, Nekia.  We went through the same song and dance I had gone through with Bristal.  She asked me if I was okay, I asked her about Jordan, and she avoided answering the question at all costs.  Holding my hand and kissing my forehead, she told me that mom and dad would be there soon, and wanted to know if there was anything she could do for me.  At that point, all I wanted was the answer to the question I had been asking people for what seemed like hours.

My parents arrived not too long after Nekia said they would.  I knew if anyone knew the answer to my question, and would actually give me the answer, it would be them.  So in my final desperate effort to gain understanding, I looked at my dad and said “daddy, where is Jordan?” and through tear filled eyes, the only tears I’ve ever seen my father cry, he said “I’m sorry baby girl he didn’t make it.”  In that moment the pain that I felt from the physical repercussions of the accident were insignificant in comparison to the feeling of my heart shattering into a billon deconstructed pieces.  The words “I’m sorry baby girl he didn’t make it” bounced around in my head like an echo, and I was overtaken with a heaviness of sorrow that I’ve never experienced before.  My mom cradled me as best she could from my hospital bed, and I closed my eyes hoping to wake up from this nightmare.