maybe it’s not true

By: ewhite422

Jul 08 2010

Category: Uncategorized

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“Mom,” I called, “There is a car parked in front of our house with 3 men sitting in it.”  Bored, at 8 years old in Odessa, Texas, I noticed anything new in the neighborhood.

My mother peered through the kitchen window.  “Well, they are now walking up the driveway,” she announced.  “And it looks like the preacher and 2 men from the church.”

She opened the door before they knocked.

“Well, come in,” she offered.  They seemed nervous, I thought, as I perched myself on the arm of the sofa beside my mother.

“We received a call at the church,” the preacher started, “That your husband has been killed in an accident.  We are so sorry, and we are here to be with you and help you in any way.  The police are checking out the details, but we wanted to make sure to offer our support as soon as we heard.”

My mother fell to her knees.  “NOOOOOOO!” she cried.  “Not Bill, too!”  She had lost her mother when she was 17 and my father was her entire life.  I sat there stunned.

After she calmed down, they began to talk about what to do next.  I heard a car drive up.  It sounded like my father’s car.

I flew to the door, and there he was, unloading all his gear from the fishing excursion he had been on with friends, oblivious to the drama that he was about to encounter.

“Daddy!”  I cried as I almost knocked him down with my lunge to his arms, “You’re not dead!!!!”

“No, I’m not dead and I have fish to clean!” he laughed, and then he saw my mother and the men from the church running to him.  It was a wonderful ending to a horrible prank that someone played when they called the church to report his death.

I never forgot it.

Years later, I was in Guadalajara, Mexico, when I got a call from a close friend in hysterics. “The consulate just called saying my husband has been critically wounded!  They’re taking him to the hospital.  Will you meet me there?”

I got there in 5 minutes to find her beside herself.

“He’s not here!  I don’t know where they have him!”  she cried.

“Wait a minute,” I tried to calm her.  “Maybe it’s not true!”  I knew what she was thinking.  It had been only about 5 years since Kiki Camerena with the DEA was tortured and killed by the drug lords.  Her husband was with the DEA, too. 

 I kept praying that maybe this could be a hoax, like my story long ago.

“Give me your contact numbers for the consulate, and I’ll call to find out the details.”

I rushed back with the news, “Your husband’s fine!” I cried.  “I just talked to the consulate and they do not know why the call was not verified before they called you.  They are so sorry.  Your husband is on his way home now!”

She looked at me, stunned, and obviously relieved.  “How did you know it might not be true?”  she asked.

Then I told her about my father, and we marveled that my path had crossed with hers to help her in a similar circumstance.

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