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Do you have one of those special photos? You know … the one
of you and your five-year old daughter doing the dishes together,
when her mom braided her hair and Strawberry
Shortcake was her favorite doll . I do.
As parents, we recognize that when our children leave the nest, we
rely on our faith in Ha Melech Malchei Ham'lachim Hakadosh Baruch
Hu* to sustain us through the trials of this world. We acknowledge that
He alone governs it.
I was at work when the call came in.
“Mr. Busch?” a stranger’s voice inquired in a tone that made me tremble.
“Please God. No! This can’t be happening,” I silently pled, recalling a
similar call from several years before, when my son Ben died in a
traffic accident.
“Yes, this is Mr. Busch,” I acknowledged reluctantly.
“My name is Ann and I have just left your daughter Kimberly,” she
said calmly.
“Kimberly! Is she alright, is she hurt, tell me where she is,” I nearly
panicked.
“Mr. Busch, she is fine. Really! We’re about an hour south of
Chicago at mile marker “80”. Kimberly was involved in an accident,
but she is unhurt, not a scratch.
“Kimmy, in an accident! Unhurt! Thank God!”
“Yes, that’s right. She’s fine. I’ve already left the scene, but I
promised her I’d call you as soon as the police arrived.”
Only two hours earlier Ann pulled off the interstate to help out after
she had witnessed a collision on her way to Chicago. That is how
she ran across my daughter Kimberly whom, we later learned, had
lost control of her steering wheel while trying to pass a truck when its
driver unexpectedly shifted into the passing lane. She was forced onto
the shoulder and across the grassy median into oncoming traffic
whereupon she struck a van.
“Listen Ann, thank you from the bottom of my heart. You can’t
imagine how much your news means to me.”
I hung up the telephone so hurriedly that I forgot to get her phone
number. I called Kimberly’s mother. With as much calm as I could
feign, I cut to the end of the story.
“Jan, hi. It’s Alan. Sorry to call at work but it’s urgent,” I
stressed.
“What is it?” she asked haltingly.
“Jan, Kimmy’s been in an accident, but she’s fine, completely unhurt,”
I hastened to emphasize.
“Kimmy, what? An accident? No, not Kimmy!” she cried out, her
voice choked with emotion.
“Listen Hon,” I interrupted, addressing her with an old
term of endearment. “Kimberly is safe and unhurt. She’ll tell you
everything later. Listen I’m leaving to get her right now. Talk later,”
I said, gathering my things, ready to run out. I looked at the clock.
Already after 3:00 and with barely the time and breath to inform
my co-workers about what had happened, I sped away.
Although I knew Kimmy had not been injured, I couldn’t help
but call the Illinois state trooper’s cell phone Ann had given me.
I guess I could not be reassured enough. I found Kimberly waiting
for me in front of the service station that had towed her car.
She was anxious to leave immediately, but I needed a few minutes
to wrap my head around this. I walked over to Kimmy’s car.
Would you believe me if I told you that the entire front end looked
like an accordion? The collision crushed the front end of the car
within several inches of the dashboard. I grasped hold of the driver’s
side door. To my amazement, it opened cleanly. I sat down in the driver's
seat and put both hands on the steering wheel. I slumped down
dumbfounded, nearly in tears, gapping incredulously at what
could well have been the place where my daughter might
have died that day. “Dad, are you ready?” Kimmy asked with the
slightest bit of impatience. The moment was for her one from
which she wanted to flee. For me it was the scene of the
reenactment of my son Ben’s fatal injuries in a traffic mishap several
years before.
I “saw” Ben’s unresponsive body lying atop the surgical table.
“Yes Love,” I replied, struggling as best I could to avoid an emotional
breakdown in front of my daughter. I was quite simply overwhelmed.
We drove home mostly in silence. Understandably, Kimmy was
skittish. She gasped every time I braked or switched lanes. Who knows
how many times she must have rerun the whole thing in her mind on
our way home?
“Kimushkele?” I asked. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, Dad, just beat,” she exhaustively uttered.
I dropped her off at her mom’s house. Our time
together was over for the day. I wanted to have more time with
her, but I knew her mom anxiously awaited her arrival. My heart
sank but here she was … safe and sound.
Why was Kimberly saved? I can't answer that question any better now
than I could before when I wondered why Ben had not been. The following
Friday, I invited Kimmy over for dinner on Erev Shabbat. My younger
son Zac was there too as was my fiancé. A beautifully set table awaited
us, its candles aglow for each of my three children.
We gathered around the table.
“Kimuschkele,” I turned to my daughter, my voice cracking as I tried
to articulate the words of a short speech.
“Yes Dad,” she responded laughingly while drying a few tears.
“This Shabbat is extra special. We say ‘Hodu la HaShem ki tov, ki le’olam
chasdo’-Praise Hashem because He is good, His kindness is eternal.
On this night especially, I am thankful to have you by my side."
I lifted the kiddush cup. A slight tremble animated my right
hand. I let a moment pass during which not a peep was uttered.
Ben’s candles seemed to flicker more brightly at that instant,
illuminating the serpentine path of a single drop of wine running
down my hand.
“Vayahe erev vayahe voker,” I sanctified the wine.*
Next morning in shul for parashat Vayigash, that week's Torah reading,
Rabbi Louis spoke admiringly of Jacov Avinu, our father Jacob, who recited
Shema, the Jewish declaration of faith in the One God, upon being
reunited with his long lost, beloved son Joseph. At that
very moment, I felt bonded to Jacov Avinu as a fellow Jewish father
thankful for the life of his child.
Alan D. Busch
Revised 12/2/08
*Ha Melech Malchei Ham'lachim Hakadosh Baruch
Hu (Hebrew) The King, King of Kings, The Holy One,
Blessed Be He
* "Vayahe erev, Vayahe voker" (Hebrew): And there was evening and there was
morning. Part of the Sabbath Eve Kiddush, chanted on Friday night.
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