Out of the Canyon : A True Story of Loss and Love

"Out of the Canyon" is the Dailys' inspiring story of love, healing, and acceptance, and of learning to live with the most inconceivable personal tragedies, move forward, and embrace life anew.

Where Dreams End

THE BOULDER HAS RESTED HIGH UP ON THE CANYON WALLS for a thousand years or more. Now it has broken loose and is hurtling down toward the westbound lanes of Interstate 70 in Glenwood Canyon, one of the most spectacular stretches of roadway in our country. The rugged cliffs reach far into the sky on either side of us, carved through the millennia by the Col­orado River, which winds along the floor of the canyon. The highway is an engineering wonder to all who travel it. I have come this way more times than I can count, and now Kathy, my wife of twelve years, and our sons, Tanner and Shea, are returning to our home in Aspen from a youth hockey game in Vail.

The peacefulness of the drive is suddenly shattered. I catch a fleeting glimpse of the beast as it hits the ground next to the Suburban and then smashes into the passenger side where Kathy is dreaming. The great rock continues on its path over the top of the vehicle, tearing at the roof with a grinding shriek that will always be with me. It is like being broadsided by a train. The force and the sound of the impact are terrify­ing, and the big car is slammed halfway into the other lane. I stand on the brake pedal and fight the steering wheel back under control, finally bringing us to a spark-flying stop along the right hand guard rail. A profound silence settles upon the car.

Beyond reason, I am untouched. I look across the front seat at Kathy. The left side of her head is unmarked, but I know that she is dead. The door and window where she is sit­ting are exploded inward, and she cannot have survived. A chunk of flesh is lying between my feet. It must be part of her. She looks strangely peaceful. I reach across and touch her hair. “Kathy,” I choke out. “Oh, Kathy.”

Ripping off my seat belt, I look back at our boys. We’d lowered the middle seats, and Tanner and Shea have been buckled into their third-row seats watching a movie on the portable VCR. Nothing will ever compare with the horror of that moment. The middle section of the vehicle is mangled, and I can see the late afternoon sky through a hole in the roof. The boys are lying on the seat beneath the flattened roof, and neither is moving or making a sound. My soul cracks wide open, and as I crawl and fight my way back between the seats I scream and scream at the sky. A man is running up the high­way toward us, and he slows for a moment as he hears me. By now I am on my knees next to the boys trying to lift the twisted metal off them, and the man climbs onto the car and reaches in through the tear in the roof to help.

Finally we free them and I lift first Tanner and then Shea up to the man, who gently places them side by side on the edge of the highway. I will never know his name.
Inexplicably, they do not look badly wounded, although there is evidence of a deep trauma on the right side of Tan­ner’s forehead. Shea just appears to be sleeping. Somehow, though, I know in my heart that they are both desperately hurt and that I may lose them. Oh dear God, these are beautiful boys, and I love them with all my soul. On my knees I move from one to the other trying to breathe life into them, to keep them alive. I’ve descended into madness. I alternate between praying to God over and over to save my sons, desperate griev­ing, and screaming in blind rage at the rocks towering above me toward the clouds. I know that help will be on the way, but we are on an elevated highway in the middle of sixteen miles of canyon, there are few exits, and I learn later that the am­bulances from Glenwood Springs have to go all the way to the top of the canyon before they can circle back down the west­bound lanes.

Two doctors from Oregon get out of their car and hurry over to see if they can help. They pull breathing tubes and stethoscopes out of their medic

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Excerpted from Out of the Canyon: A True Story of Loss and Love by Art Daily, Allison Daily
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