By david hutton
(C)
The afternoon in the foothills of the Smokey Mountains appeared somber as I drove along I-24 westbound from Knoxville to Memphis to be with my children. I had been overseas for three months in the Netherlands at an educational summit attending the Hague Academy Of Advanced
International Law in The Netherlands and had enjoyed it immensely; well, that is until I received that fateful phone call in the early morning hours that every parent dreads. It was four O’clock in the morning Amsterdam time which was seven hours ahead of the Central Standard Time zone of the caller and I was groggy but the sound of the unusual ring at that time in the morning found me wide awake.
It was my former wife Robbin who sounded out of breath “David, there’s been a horrible accident and Chaz’s car is totaled” .Chaz was our oldest of three children and had recently turned seventeen. The shock of that statement sent cyber fast images across my mind’s eye; a mangled car, blood, a hospital ambulance, a room of dedicated emergency medical technicians and doctors frantically working in the organized chaos of those ever so familiar scenes.
As she was describing her reality of this nightmare and the details of the accident scene my cell phone vibrated indicating an incoming message that she ad sent . There were pictures attached; it was the car, upside down and parts of a utility pole next to it that had obviously snapped by the great force of the car. It was barely recognizable as the silver shiny Grand Jeep Cherokee that I had bought for him as a senior high school year present. Oh my God I thought as I unwittingly uttered the words to her “what happened”. “I don’t know David but you have to come quick”. “I’ll be there” I said and hung up the phone and began immediately calling the airlines to check the next available flights to the United States.
There was an early morning flight but first I had to make a mad rush for the inner city train in den
Hague to Amsterdam Central and I barely made the flight but with the help of some compassionate airport security personnel who responded only to the words “emergency” as I held out the picture of the car on my cell. I made it to the aircraft in the last moments and could feel the cessation of the wind drafts as the flight attendant closed the cabin door behind me.
The seven hour flight was a mental holocaust wrapped in a nightmare. Time became my adversary and refused to pass at its normal pace, almost intentionally it seemed. I remembered the Lyrics to

that popular song of the 1970s entitled The Wreck Of The Edmund Fitzgerald
“does anyone know where the love of God goes
when the waves turn the minutes to hours”
My mind began playing tricks on my sense of reality; blame, guilt, “if onlys”, permanent life wheelchairs…..funeral ? The agony intensified as the minutes lagged.
I began to pray, fervently. I had believed all my life that one should never pray for an outcome to our all powerful creator & maker for he knows all and events will go according to his plan. I instead prayed for strength and wisdom to know what to do upon landing and to have the Lord’s direction at how to comfort Chaz’s mother & siblings who would no doubt be devastated.
Tears streamed down my face from the moment of take off and through the ascension to cruising altitude. My emotional distress was at some point noticed by a flight attendant with whom I shared my story. She sat beside me in an empty seat and we prayed together. She checked on me frequently throughout the flight with unbelievable kindness.
Finally the Captain announced over the intercom “we have started our descent over the Knoxville area and we will be landing in approximately thirty minutes. Countdown ! Fifteen , ten, five and then as I looked out across the Tennessee River below I switched on my cell phone and waited for the new messages. The phone began to continuously vibrate but the Boeing 757 had touched down before I was able to retrieve the anxiously awaited news and pictures.
Before I was able to download any of these I noticed an incoming call. It was Robbin calling and my heart stopped. I took a deep breath as I exhaled the words “God hold my hand, please hold my hand”. “David, are you back home?” she asked. “Yes” I said “How is Chaz?” “David he’s going to be fine, just some bad bruises and lacerations”. The exultation inside me began instantly and it was moments later before I was able to breathe normally. I felt gratitude like I had never felt before.
There is a physiological phenomenon that occurs in the aftermath of a horrific traumatic relief that overcomes the mind, body and spirit. The feeling is the same as a pre operative drug administered prior to a surgical procedure. If there is such a feeling as numbness of cognitivity of thoughts and sensations that are asleep then that would have described me perfectly during those moments for I do not remember removing my luggage off of the conveyor belt in the baggage section of the airport, leaving Knoxville or the scenic drive along any of the 120 miles of highway until I noticed a roadway sign indicating a scenic tourist area that overlooked what is known as Nickajack Lake lookout point.
Nickajack Lake is actually a tributary that flows off from the main body of the Tennessee River and upon seeing the signs of the rest area I felt exhausted and decided that I should stop and rest. I wondered if I could make it the last mile to the turnoff. As I opened both eyes as wide I began

counting backwards the tenths of the last mile to zero and at last the entrance to the rest area appeared.
I pulled in and slowly inspected the parking spaces in search for an empty one as close to the overlook bench area as I could find. I was in luck. I proceeded slowly and as I passed in front of the vending area a car with Michigan plates pulled out from a parking space. I eased my car into the empty space and turned off the ignition and leaned back and closed my eyes. So much farther until I could wrap my arms around my son who had, I believe been spared from the grasp of death by God Almighty himself.
After a few moments of resting I exited the car and approached the overlook area and found myself an empty bench. For the first time I noticed the beautiful waters of the Tennessee River, its translucence and blue green color. I sat on a visitor’s bench and gazed over the waters at the tall maple trees that adorned the banks and as the sun set the reflections of the ripples and waves made them sparkle majestically. The next thing I realized there were tears streaming down my face and I was pummeled by a feeling of both exhaustion and catharsis.
The reality of it all, my long absence away from the children, the memories of playing by the
Banks of this Grande river as a youth all became intermingly entwined in my soul and the only outlet it seemed was through my tears. My head was bowed at my obvious embarrassment of such a display of emotions in a public place and as I looked up to see if anyone had noticed I saw her.
She was an old but distinguished looking woman dressed with a long overcoat and a light silk scarf neatly tied about her neck and expertly folded inside her coat lapel. Had she noticed me ? She was so close to me yet she looked upon the waters with a gaze so intense that it reminded me of a bird of prey perched upon a high tree top. She was obviously too preoccupied with other thoughts to possibly have seen anything else. But she was standing so close, how was it that I had not seen her approach ?
I dropped my head again and buried them in my hands as though it would appear to others that I was resting when in actuality I was hiding my reddened face and the glazed look of tears.
Memories and flashbacks raced before my mind’s eye and the many emotions were so mixed that I had no idea what I was actually feeling except way from normal. After a period of silence from other visitors & the sounds of the vending machines I lifted my head and was startled !!
Oh My God the elderly woman I had seen before was sitting beside me !!!! “It’s a beautiful afternoon” she said. “why, er yes ma’am it certainly is” I responded hoping that this exchange of pleasantry was purely out of good manners and that there would be no more. I wanted only to be left alone.
“I’ve been coming here many years” she continued. Then she raised her arm and pointed out to a point over the water “you see that tiny little island there in the middle of the water”? I did and nodded affirmatively. It was small patch of dry land in the midst of the main body of the river and

it had a tower in the middle of it . “My name is Sara Weeks, what’s yours?” I told her. “Well
David, my husband proposed to me on that island, I was seventeen. We took a rowboat there and had a picnic and he proposed to me with a ring in his hand. Since that time we had always referred to it as engagement island. We visited there many times afterwards through the years. There was no tower upon it then or anything else around here in those days.”
Suddenly my mind left my recent thoughts of the tumultuous and emotionally packed despair of the previous twenty four hours. I tried ascertain the age of Ms. Sarah Weeks and to imagine just how long ago in the past that would have been. I could almost envision this young woman of seventeen sitting upon that lonely little island in a long ankle length cotton white dress which marked the times but I was much too shy to inquire. I turned to look at her as she sat beside me.
Her gaze was unchanged and she was still looking out over the far reaches of the waters. It seemed to captivate her and hold her in a trance.
In the twilight silhouette of this woman I saw regality of a life well lived. She looked a woman of principle and purpose of all that is good in this world, or at least what was good. She reminded me of one of those characters in a Norman Rockwell painting, all so real. My heart awoke again and I remembered the days past and my tears began to stream once again for what seemed like forever.
It was uncontrollable despite her presence and I wished immensely that this sweet wonderful lady would excuse herself but she did not. No matter, I thought if she wants to stick around she might as well as I don’t really know her anyway. Suddenly she grabbed my hand and it was warm as she said “ I believe that I have come by at just the right time. Why don’t we sit here a spell, ok ?” I nodded in agreement. I couldn’t believe that a total stranger was holding my hand over no objections from me and that it felt wonderful.
The tears continued to fall for awhile and my “miracle woman” Sarah said not a word. She would adjust her grip every few minutes but not a word was spoken and she seemed perfectly content to sit there with me and hold me, almost caressingly. I felt like a little boy whose mother was waiting with him at a bus stop the first day of school and her hand was noticeably warm and it felt good & reassuring.
The moments passed and my fears melted into nothingness as I felt resurgence within my heart’s soul. Thoughts of relief besieged my heart and I felt my very soul exhale. Still we sat there and the only sound was silence. It was sweet and I felt as if I had known her for years.
Her words came next,” how are you feeling my dear young David? ” I am so much better now” I said . “Good, well , I must be running along now , I am late to my Great Granddaughter’s house for my ninety third birthday party” “Oh , I’m so sorry” I said “I didn’t mean to make you late” I said sheepishly. “Oh it’s nothing” she said . “I am right where I am supposed to be. Besides, I’ll just tell them that it’s not every day a ninety three year old woman gets to hold hands with a

handsome young man” . I blushed as she stood before me and held my head with both of her hands and kissed my forehead. She looked me in the eyes for the first time and said “now go see those children of yours, they need you. God will be with you”
As she walked away I noticed the woman whose soul was adorned with virtue. A cool breeze began to blow and notified me of yet more tears of which I was unaware but unlike the others these were not the tears of fear, agony or despair. These were the tears of gratitude and for the unforgettable & timeless Ms. Sarah Weeks who had with her withered hand of strength had written an inscription upon my heart that would remain forever. Thank you Sarah. I love you , David