Pensivity Prodder (really long, sorry)
My morning started out unusual, but lovely. In a fit of domesticity nearly worthy of Martha Stewart, I got up early (actually when my alarm went off for the first time and I don’t remember the last time I did that) and made muffins for me and the darling man for breakfast. I also made our lunches, and then within the next half hour showered, dressed, did my hair, and was ready to leave. (I didn’t think I could do that.) I tried out the drive to work from his place for the first time this morning. I left over two hours early, just in case, and even with the half hour delay from an accident, I was half an hour early. So good to know. It’s the accident that delayed everyone that has prodded me in to a pensive mood today.
Have you ever been parked in traffic on the highway for what seems like a really long time, and you’re getting mad because, hey, you left with just enough time to get to work/school/plans and now you’re going to be late? You’re just sitting, and sitting, and starting to steam, because you can’t see any obvious reason why traffic just stopped and nobody is even crawling ahead?
Aside from the going to be late part, that was me this morning. I was getting mad because I was very worried that I was going to hit more traffic further in to the city (Chicago has baaad traffic when it is bright and sunny, let alone when it’s raining like this morning) and I really didn’t want to be late. It wasn’t until the ambulance went screaming past on the shoulder that I realized I should sit there and just be glad I wasn’t the one who needed the ambulance. What seemed like a long time later, we started moving again, everyone shifting into the right lane. We come upon one of those trucks with the flashing “get your ass in the other lane now” signs, which pushes all of us to be halfway on the shoulder. There are four fire trucks, three police cars, and two empty ambulances surrounding the single car accident.
Here’s where the ache in my chest started.
The car was sitting on the driver’s side, smushed into the tall cement median, undercarriage out to us passersby. The only part of the paint remaining was on the rear bumper- a bright, cheerful red. The rest was charred. There were piles of what looked like cloths leaning on the median in front of the engine compartment, and the gurney from the ambulance was sitting, waiting, the pile of linens and blankets sitting on top of it. I cannot imagine that any one surivived this. Not only because of the position and condition of the car, but more importantly by the implications of this: despite the fact that I saw several firemen, several policemen, and several EMTs, nobody was rushing. None of the emergency workers were rushing, acting as if they were in an emergency. That simple fact more than anything convinces me that this was a fatal accident.
I don’t know the person in the car. I didn’t recognize what little of it would be recognizable. I can’t think of anyone I know that would be taking that route into the city. Even so, I feel like I’ve lost someone. Not someone close to me, but someone I knew. I’m not saying that I’m having some sort of psychic moment, but that my emotional reaction to this is similar to what I felt when people I’ve known but not been really close to have passed on. What happened? Was she late for work, trying to make up the time so she wouldn’t miss an important meeting? Was he speeding and hit a slick wet spot in the pavement as he went around the curve? Was she just excited, on her way to pick a loved one up from the airport? Who will miss him? Is there a little child somewhere that will cry for Mommy or Daddy tonight? I don’t know. I can’t answer any of these questions that are going through my mind. I can only hope, and pray, which I don’t often do, that whoever was in the car made it by some miracle and was already being whisked away to the hospital by a third ambulance I never saw. I can only hope, and pray, that if that didn’t happen, this person died quickly, on impact, rather than struggling to get free, in pain, through smoke and flames, only to be unable to do so. I can only hope that where ever he/she is, there is no pain, no sorrow.
Life is so fragile, so fleeting. I always try to remember this, and it seems that whenever I begin again to take it for granted that I get a reminder. Sometimes it is something like this, sometimes something much smaller. Either way, it always reminds me to enjoy the small moments; the kiss good-bye, the smile from my niece as she peeks around the corner, the scratches my dogs give me when they jump on me in their excitement to see me. So I’m saying again, I’m going to kiss a little longer, give hugs a little tighter, and give longer tummy rubs.
To the family of this person, I will probably never know you, or even who you are. Still, my heart goes out to you. I cannot help but imagine myself and my family in your place, and the imagined pain is nearly unbearable. Please know that while you suffer through this real pain, there are those of us who are thinking of you even though our only connection to your family and your loved one is driving past on the way to work.
