Woman Dies In Head-On Collision But When They Took Her Phone And Saw Her Facebook Page They Were Speechless
Police have reported that a woman lost her life in a head-on collision on a US highway moments after updating her status and posting selfies on Facebook.
The 32-year-old Courtney Sanford posted the following on her Facebook page at 8:33 on Thursday morning: “The happy song makes me so HAPPY.” Police were contacted about a crash at 8:34 in the morning.
According to the officers, Ms. Sanford was driving alone when her automobile over the center reservation, collided with a recycling truck, and caught fire, causing the other car to be forced off the road.
She was traveling down Interstate 85 in North Carolina on her way to work at the time, and according to the police, there was no indication that her speed, use of drugs, or alcohol had any role in the crash.
The Facebook link wasn’t made public until this past weekend, when Ms. Sanford’s acquaintances reported to the police that several of her online posts seemed to have been made around the same time as the actual incident.
The collision, according to Lt Chris Weisner, a spokesman for the High Point Police Department, was a real-life public service announcement “showing what happens when you text and drive,”
According to Lt. Weisner, Ms. Sanford had been taking selfies on the highway, as evidenced by her social media accounts, in addition to the status update she sent just before the collision.
“In a matter of seconds, a life was over just so she could notify some friends that she was happy. It’s really not worth it,” he said.
“Even though it is depressing, it serves as a somber reminder for everyone—you just need to pay attention when driving.“
John Wallace Thompson, 73, was operating the truck, according to the police, and he was unharmed.
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Ghosts in the Sand: How Trumpet Worm Nests Shaped Curious Childhoods
It looked alien.
Half-buried in the sand, curled like something fossilized or forgotten, it sat by the shoreline where our bare feet used to wander. As kids, we weren’t sure what it was—only that it felt wrong somehow.
Too strange. Too still. We called it the thing, dared each other to touch it, then shrieked and ran as if it might come alive.
Long before we knew the word polychaete, these trumpet worm nests haunted our beach days like whispers from a secret world. And for many of us, they’ve never quite left.
When Childhood Isn’t All Soft Focus and Sunbeams
Not every childhood memory is a golden haze. Some stick because they unsettled us, because they made us ask questions we didn’t have answers to. The trumpet worm nest is one of those strange fixtures—unassuming to adults, unforgettable to children. It wasn’t dangerous. It wasn’t dramatic. But it had a quiet weirdness that dug into your imagination and stayed there.
What was it? Where did it come from? Could it move?
Even now, the memory lingers.
The Architects Beneath the Tide
Here’s what we know now:
Trumpet worm nests are the handiwork of marine polychaetes—tiny, segmented worms that build sand-and-shell shelters to live in. You’ll find them along calm coastlines, where water flows gently and sand stays soft. The worm uses grains, shell shards, and whatever debris it can find to shape a long, gritty tube that extends just above the surface.
They’re master builders, these worms—an ancient species that turns scraps into safety.
The Mystery That Lurks in the Mundane
If you grew up near water—beaches, marshes, estuaries—you probably stumbled on one of these nests, whether or not you recognized it. To children, they were puzzles: not quite plant, not quite animal.
They looked like something left behind. Something forgotten. We poked them with sticks. We made up stories. Sometimes, we walked wide circles around them.
We were reacting not just to what they were—but to what they represented: a part of nature that didn’t make itself easy to understand.
How to Recognize a Trumpet Worm Nest
Next time you’re by the shore, look closely. You might spot one:
Shape: Long, tube-like, sticking slightly from the sand or rock.
Texture: A rough mosaic of sand grains and broken shell.
Color: Beige to brown, blending into the coastline.
Openings: Tiny holes, one at each end—the worm’s windows to the world.
They’re easy to miss, but unforgettable once noticed.
To Touch or Not to Touch?
Don’t.
Though sturdy in appearance, these nests are delicate. They house living creatures that play quiet but vital roles in the coastal ecosystem. If you find one, consider it a small treasure—best admired, not disturbed. Take a photo. Make a sketch. Tell the story.
And if a child’s with you, let their questions roam. You never know what memory you’re helping to shape.
The Lesson Inside the Unease
Looking back, those childhood encounters weren’t just about weird beach finds. They were about meeting the unknown. About being small in a big world, and realizing that even tiny things had stories we couldn’t yet understand.
Trumpet worm nests didn’t just gross us out—they taught us. They pulled us out of the familiar and asked us to pay attention. They whispered: There’s more here than you know.
Revisiting Wonder With Grown-Up Eyes
As adults, we see it differently. We recognize the structure, understand the biology. But the feeling? That childhood curiosity edged with fear? That never quite leaves. And maybe it shouldn’t.
Because the world is still full of strange things hidden in the sand—still offering chances to wonder, still reminding us to tread lightly, ask questions, and stay curious.
Final Thought: More Than Just a Nest
Trumpet worm nests are small. But they carried weight in the minds of children who found them. They were eerie, enchanting, and entirely real. And in a world full of sanitized experiences, they offered something raw, natural, and humbling.
They taught us that not all learning comes from books, not all beauty is obvious—and that sometimes, the deepest memories come from the oddest places.
So here’s to the ghosts in the sand, and the children we were when we found them.
