'Life is short'

DeKALB – The massive green front-loading garbage truck had a perfect circle shattered into its windshield. The spider-web pattern formed into the cracked glass is most likely the location where David Franklin's head made contact.

Fifty yards away lay the crumpled remains of the Franklin's Ford F-150 pickup truck. All that stood between David, who was driving, and the garbage truck was a metal door.

It was dusk in late November and twin brothers David and Dan Franklin were heading to their grandparent's house in Rockford. David, who had played baseball for three years at DeKalb High, had just finished his fall season and couldn't wait for his senior year.

But when the garbage truck made contact with his truck at 50 mph, baseball was put on hold. Life was too.

Survival was all that mattered.

"I don't know how it happened, it was a four-way intersection with a two-way stop," David said. "I had to stop, I looked both ways. It was getting dark, it was a dark green truck and I assume I just didn't see it in an intersection with a hill that is notorious for accidents."

There is an 11-day period that starts Nov. 26, the day of the accident, where David has no memory. He didn't know he was extricated from the cab of the truck in a 45-minute process.

He didn't know that while being airlifted to St. Anthony's Hospital in Rockford via helicopter that his heart stopped four times. Those are 11 blank days when his body was pushed as close to the edge as humanly possible.

But Dan remembers everything. Sitting on the passenger side, big brother – by two minutes – was able to pry his way out of the truck immediately after the accident. First responders were everywhere, already placing calls to 911 and scurrying to the scene of the accident.

"David took most of the impact," Dan said. "Stuff in the car went flying toward me. David went flying toward me. The seats were on top of each other after impact."

THE PHONE CALLS

Dan still could hear the sound of metal crushing. The smell of burnt rubber tires was fresh in the air. First responders had arrived at the scene and in minutes EMS technicians peeled away the cabin of truck like a tin can.

"Some of the stuff I was hearing made me wonder what they were doing in there," Dan said. "The mechanical sounds muffled David's moaning as the extrication equipment got him out."

EMS was fighting to free him.

David was fighting for his life.

And Dan, who has made thousands of phone calls in his life, readied to make a series of calls there is no way to prepare for as his brother's life hung in a delicate balance.

First Dan called his grandparents, Bill and Karen Whaley. They were just minutes from their house. Then Dan called his dad, Tom Franklin. He remembers the conversation being one-sided, doing most of the talking as his dad listened.

Dan wants to be a firefighter and already has started to train. He knew David was in bad shape, but he also knew that Tom and Robin Franklin had a 40-minute ride from DeKalb to St. Anthony's.

"Dan was smart," Tom Franklin said. "He didn't say how bad things were because he knew we had a long way to go. We were told to hurry, that there was trouble. But we didn't realize the depth of the trouble until we got there."

After making the calls, playing the role of big brother, Dan returned to David's side.

"I went to sit with him," Dan said. "He was dying in front of me just gurgling breaths. He had a big cut, blood coming out of his mouth and he was pretty messed up. EMS said they'd never seen someone hit so hard and still be living."

The gravity of the situation hit Robin Franklin when her mother, Karen Whaley, called as she was en route. Karen was on the scene and provided an update that sent her daughter into tears.

"When mom told me they were landing a helicopter, my heart just sank," Robin Franklin said. "When the news came in that they had to cut David from the truck I cried the whole way up there. My first thought was not my kids, this can't be happening to me."

If the ride from DeKalb to St. Anthony's seemed to take forever, the waiting game the Franklin's experienced the next five days seemed interminable. As family and friends gathered in the waiting room, doctors kept everyone focused on Dan's condition.

As the passenger, Dan walked away from the accident. He rode an ambulance to Rockford. He was treated for bruised ribs and a bruised hip and after a few hours was released from the emergency room.

Dan's condition was a beacon of hope; doctor's were certain he would recover and the family needed good news, because David's condition offered no guarantees. David was put in a drug-induced coma because he had a collapsed left lung, a fractured hip, a broken pubic bone, a fractured scapula, a jaw broken in two spots and a bruised oxygen-deprived brain.

"Those were the longest five days of my life," Robin Franklin said. "The doctors were touch and go. But there was never a doubt in my mind that he would make it. I just kept a positive spirit."

In the five days it took for doctors to provide news that David might survive the accident, the Franklins' spirit constantly was tested. Originally, family and friends arrived to say goodbye to David. There was a two-person limit to see him as he was hooked up to a series of machines and breathing tubes.

Megan Corneille was among a group of friends and classmates who visited the hospital every day.

"I honestly never wanted to believe that I would ever have to say goodbye," Corneille said. "I convinced myself that David would make it, even when I was being told he me might not. But the possibility of losing a friend was one of the worst feelings I've ever experienced."

As the waiting room swelled with friends and family, Dan kept his resolve.

"I wasn't saying final goodbyes," Dan said. "I was telling him he wasn't going anywhere. I was lying in bed with him talking to him, reading him Cubs books. I just was telling him I wasn't ready to say goodbye, we are too young. Something told me he was going to be alright."

THE COMEBACK

The metal bleachers were loaded with fans. Lawn chairs were assembled as the early spring grass was just starting to turn green on a pleasant, sunny Saturday afternoon.

Tom and Robin Franklin sat on the silver bleachers at DeKalb High School and noticed a larger crowd than usual, especially for a JV baseball game.

But this wasn't any game. It marked David's return to the starting lineup. David had made two relief pitching appearances in varsity games, but against Naperville North he started at catcher.

"I love being on the baseball field," David said. "I was a starter last year but as soon as the accident happened I thought there was no way I would play baseball."

After visiting doctors in Rockford twice a week for a month, then twice a month and eventually only once a month, Tom Franklin had one request: For David's doctors toallow his son to play baseball again.

Don't play catcher or pitcher. Tom Franklin didn't like the unpredictability of each position. Catcher is the most brutal position on the field. Involved in every play, a catcher is subject to being hit by a foul tip in the head and all over their body.

He must block any wild pitches with his body. Sure, the gear he wears protects the head, chest and legs, but David had just gone through major trauma in November; too much could go wrong.

Even the doctors told him at first that he should not play baseball. But his condition kept improving.

"It was awesome to see him out there," Tom Franklin said. "His motivation was to get better and play baseball because he loves the game so much. He just wanted to be involved with the team. The camaraderie they share was great.

"I was terrified at first, if he were going to play pitcher or catcher. But I always taught the boys not to be afraid of things. You can't avoid things because of fear. I want them to be sensible but you can't avoid something because of what might happen."

David will always remember that game. He went 3-for-3 with a double. After serving as scorekeeper and manager through March, David finally got his chance.

"I would practice and go to the games," David said. "I wanted to play so bad I didn't even care about my body. I was finally cleared to play the same day we played Sycamore at NIU."

David made it back from his doctors appointment to watch the end of that game. But when he did finally get in a game, he became an inspiration.

So much so that it was a no-brainer when coach Justin Keck handed David the "Heart of a Barb" Award at the team's postseason banquet.

"This was an experience as a coach and teacher that I will never forget," Keck said. "To see all he did was amazing."

Next year, David will enroll at Kishwaukee College. He plans to try out for the Kougars baseball team. His strength has returned and after dropping to 115 pounds in the hospital, he is back to 150 pounds.

The obstacles of life and the challenge of playing baseball pale in comparison the grave
situation he faced. It's changed his life; he said he looks to seize the day every chance he gets.

"You can't think about being almost dead," David said. "What good would that do?

"Life is short, do whatever you can and have fun. My approach toward everything since has been, 'If you can't change something why get mad or sad about it, just let it go.'"