Feeling tired while driving may seem harmless, but as one caring sister shares, it can lead to a young life–and friendship–cut tragically short.

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It was about 6:00 a.m. on July 4, 2025, when my brother, Lane, came into my room to tell me that he was leaving for the river with his best friend, Kaden, to float with a group of his friends. He did something out of the ordinary when he left after he gave me the usual hug; he said, “I wanted to tell you I love you just in case anything happened.” While it was normal for us to say we loved one another, the addition of “in case anything happened” was eerie. He left, and I carried on with getting up and ready for the day. I ended up going to our home gym and started walking when Lane called me and asked me what my parents were doing, and to tell me he was about 25 minutes away from home. It was around 2:00 pm or so by this point. I felt a little off but chalked it up to being hot from working out. But about 15 minutes later, he called me with a shaky voice and in shambles that he was in a crash and that he was okay, but he could see Kaden’s bone sticking out of his leg and that he was unconscious. My gut had already told me what happened, and I connected the dots.  Without hesitation, I ran to tell my parents. I went out the door so fast I didn’t give them time to go with me. So, we ended up driving separately. On the road, I was trying to wrap my brain around what had happened and that Lane was okay and that Kaden just had a broken leg. 

Five minutes into the 22-minute drive, Lane called and said that Kaden had passed. I could tell that this was breaking my brother by the sound of his voice and muffled cries on the other side of the phone. Now, my brain is thinking the worst and that Lane is not really okay, but it must just be his adrenaline keeping him on his feet. I arrived at the scene, blocked by the fire department, until the scene was cleared. I pleaded with the firefighters to please let me get to my brother because he’s disoriented and alone. After 10 minutes, I am able to get to Lane, and then I see it, a semi hauling logs had flipped, logs covering the highway, and then the small, crumpled, and tattered Dodge Charger that Kaden was so proud to own because he bought it himself. It was so much worse than I could have ever imagined. I knew that whatever Lane experienced there was nothing I could do to take away that pain fully. When I finally got to him, I just wrapped my arms around him and let him melt into my arms. His cries were painful and loud, but I just held him tighter because I knew he needed his sister in that moment, not to talk, just to be there. He told me that he woke up in the ditch, his knees began to hurt, he saw his own blood, and then Kaden’s. Lane told me he believes that Kaden must have fallen asleep from being drowsy after floating the river. Kaden’s family arrived soon after, and the screams from his mother and father were unlike anything I had heard. Lane approached his parents, and they embraced him and shared the long and painful moment of grief together. When we were able to take him home, our first stop was the emergency room, where the tests and x-rays came back alright. 

It wasn’t long until the pain in his spine was so intense that he could no longer walk. While this carried on for days, and we helped him to and from wherever he needed to go, slowly, but surely, he was able to put more pressure on his legs. Today, Lane is walking and getting some normalcy back. He will forever be changed because 6 inches was all that was between him being here and us laying flowers on two graves instead of one. 

Kaden’s story isn’t done yet, either. While he may not be here to keep writing new chapters, Lane, Kaden’s family, my family, and I will keep reading his story and telling others of just how incredible and loved he was.  

Say their names, Kaden Allen and Lane Smith. 

Elizabeth Smith, Lane’s sister.