The Knock

My great aunt, my Cioci Wanda, lived in Hawaii for decades, wore a mu-mu and was eccentric as hell.  And I adored her.  She was full of old wives tales (one time I had poison ivy on my legs and she told me to pee on myself in the shower to clear it up quickly).  Anytime she learned of some one's passing she would say, "I knew it!  I heard the knock of death."  Apparently, the "Knock of Death" is when you hear someone (something??) knocking on your door 3 times in the middle of the night.

Fast forward to last Thursday night.  I wasn't sleeping well and SWORE that I heard someone knocking on our door at 4:15 AM.   Yup.  They knocked three times.  No more.  No less.  I didn't get up and answer the door because #1, I really didn't want to find out who the hell was knocking on my door at 4:15 in the morning and #2, if they really wanted to get my attention, they would have knocked more than three times and maybe knocked a little harder. 

So, on my way to work, convinced that I've heard the "knock," I called my parents to see if everyone was OK.  I found out my SIL and the kids had been in a very, very bad car accident on Thursday afternoon and were trapped in the truck until the fire department could bust through the windshield to get them all out.  Miraculously, everyone is fine and walked away w/out a scratch.  The truck was t-boned and spun around and rolled.  Somehow, Little Miss C came out of her booster seat and was hanging from the seat belt.  Mr. B was a hero and quickly unbuckled himself and held his little sister's feet in the air until my SIL could get to them in the backseat.  When I spoke to my bro, I told him the knock must not have been for them.  Yeah.  We share a warped sense of humor.