(L_R) Bekah, my brother, Andy Burkhart, Sam, my dad, Dave Burkhart, and my grandfather, Karl Burkhart
I know there are some people who get very excited about cars. By excited I mean they literally have emotional attachments that border on obsession.
I grew up seeing cars every day. My dad owns an auto body repair shop. I’ve seen people (understandably) crushed when a beautiful classic is brought in with a nick in its original paint, or worse, is dropped off by the wrecker.
I’ve been to car shows and seen some very impressive vehicles. I’ve seen more than one grown man get a little weepy when talking about a favorite car from days gone by.
In all that I’ve seen and come to appreciate about vehicles, there is one that always stops me in my tracks, brings a tear to my eye, and a prayer to my heart – Akron Children’s transport van.
It’s a sight unlike any other. I remember watching from the window of my hospital room as it slowly progressed down the street and out of sight a few hours after Bekah was born.
Two days later, when there was a freak tornado warning in November and Air Bear couldn’t swoop in to fly Bekah from St. Elizabeth’s in Youngstown to Akron Children’s in Akron, I was relieved to find that once again, the ambulance was on its way.
Bekah being transported as newborn
For some, it’s a scary sight. It means there is an emergency. But for me, it also means there is HOPE. There is something that can be tried in order to save whoever is inside.
Today, as I saw the familiar sight of the extra-large, extra-beautiful white and blue transport vehicle in oncoming traffic, I’ll admit that I grew a little weepy about the beauty of vehicles. I said a quick prayer for the crew inside, and the incredible job they do for each transport.
I thought about the doctors and nurses who were prepping for the arrival of the team, and I thought about the family of the patient.
Chris and Bekah with Ralph, the respiratory therapist who transported Bekah from St. E’s to Akron Children’s NICU
Immediately, I too, was transported. I went back to that unusually warm November day when a very sick baby girl made her surprise entrance into the world, and then disappeared into the darkness as I stood terrified of what may come next, but relieved that there was some kind of “next” to try, and the transport team was taking her to whatever that was.
The swirl of emotions – fear, anxiety, relief, thankfulness – even over 3 years later, they’re never far from the surface, and I don’t really mind if that’s where they stay.
Like a true connoisseur of beautiful vehicles, I’m starting to get used to the fact that just the sight of that familiar paint job can immediately make me more than a little nostalgic.
Facebook Comments