When my children were young, nearly every winter my wife and I took them to a cabin for the winter school break. We'd spend the time skiing, sledding, drinking hot chocolate by the fireplace, etc. By the time our kids were in high school, spending time with their parents (and away from their friends) wasn't in their interests anymore.
One Thanksgiving, my son and daughter were home from college and began to reminisce about our old winter cabin expeditions. We decided, with my wife, to plan an impromptu cabin trip for the upcoming winter break. My wife and I were thrilled, knowing our children valued the experiences we gave them in their youth.
About a month later, we were vacationing in the snowy mountains! We spent the days, as before, skiing and sledding -- having snowball fights, and telling stories by the fireplace. It was wonderful.
Three days into our trip, my wife heard a report on the radio about an incoming snowstorm. As a family, we decided it would be unsafe to make the entire trip back home, but agreed a trip into the town nearby was necessary for emergency food and batteries. Even as we discussed it, the snow began to fall outside.
Kicking myself that I hadn't planned for such emergencies, I began to bundle up. It was better to go now, while the snow was still light -- it could become fierce at any time -- and who knew how long it would snow for?
As I was preparing to leave, my daughter dashed down the stairs, coat in hand. "I'm coming with you, Dad," she said. "I don't want you to be alone out there."
Laughingly, I refused. "Sweetheart, I'll be fine. It's better that you're here, safe. Trust me. I'll be right back." I turned toward the door, but she blocked me.
"I'm coming with you," she said, smiling.
I glanced at my wife. She shrugged, as if to say She'll be fine.
I sighed, and nodded my head, consenting. I opened the door, and my daughter ran out in front of me toward the car.
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An hour later, we'd stocked up the car with canned food, batteries, sleeping bags, water and flashlights and were headed home towards the cabin. The snow had started to fall heavily upon our car, and I was eager to get home before the roads became even worse. It was dark, now, harder to see -- and the cold had turned the snowy roads into dangerously slick ice paths.
White-knuckled, I crept along the road, trying my best to keep us steadily and safely on our path. Unbelievably, the snow took a turn for the worse, and it was impossible to see anything. I glanced at my daughter, tight-lipped and anxious, and asked if we should pull over. She agreed.
I pulled the car over to the right side of the road, looking for a safe place to stop that was off the path and out of the danger zone of other motorists. As I veered off further to the right, I instantly realized my mistake -- we were headed into a deep ditch. Terror ran through me as my hand went out in front of my daughter to prevent jostling. She screamed as we slid down into the depth of the ditch, crunching head first into snow and buckling the hood.
Then, the car stalled. I tried to turn it on, but no avail. We were screwed.
My daughter frantically scrambled for her cell phone to call her mother. As soon as she got her on the line, she started crying. I took the phone and told my wife what happened. She, of course, offered to take the other car out to come find us, but that would've been stupid and dangerous. I told her our approximate location (though I wasn't exactly sure) and asked her to call an emergency vehicle to help us.
Of course, I decided to call myself as well, and was told they would do our best to reach us as soon as possible. I warned them that we were in a deep ditch and probably difficult to see off of the road. They assured me they would keep their eyes peeled.
So we waited.
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