The Ride of Your Life

The Meeting of a Man It was a typical spring day in Virginia. The May sun was shining and the sky was a cloudless blue. It was the kind of day when our biggest worries were about shuttling kids to sporting events and having them where they needed to be on time. Our dear friends from California had come into town, and we sat, sipping coffee, reminiscing about our children growing too fast, our old neighborhood in California and how we wished our wonderful weekend visit with them didn’t have to end so soon. As it always does, though, the clock continued to tick, and we soon realized that our lazy spring morning had to come to an end. My husband, Lance, and I began the usual discussion about who would take whom where and when, and how sporting equipment would be delivered to children strewn about the neighborhood at various sleepovers. Our friends began to pack, and our bantering turned to decision making. Lance decided he would take our friends to the airport and take our oldest daughter, Brigette, to her soccer game later that day. It was my task to take paintball equipment to our son, Andrew, and to deliver soccer equipment to Brigette prior to her game. As was usually the case, our youngest, Olivia, would tag along with me, ever the good sport about the many needs of her older siblings. With plans in motion, Lance and our guests headed to the airport, and Olivia and I stood in the driveway to wave goodbye. The beauty of the day turned my attention to our convertible, and I began a lengthy, internal debate as to the pros and cons of taking the convertible or the SUV. Looking back, it continually amazes me that this personal dialogue would have such a profound impact upon the outcome of the day’s events. While I often talk to myself throughout the day, the voice in my head seemed to be very different and far more persistent than usual. Clearly, I wanted to take the convertible on such a glorious day, but when the rather heated argument between the California girl side and the motherly side of my brain came to a close, the SUV came out on top. The unusual voice had won. I buckled Olivia safely into her booster seat and, after a few last-minute trips back and forth into the house, I set off down the road toward our various destinations. I drove to the neighborhood home where Brigette had stayed overnight, left her soccer equipment with her for her game later that day, pulled back on to the main road in our neighborhood, and headed for the sporting goods store. Now, my Olivia happens to be what some would call a “chatty Kathy.” As our youngest, she was almost always by my side, and our car trips were usually when we shared the various activities that were going on in our lives, when we laughed, sang and just enjoyed each other’s company. So, when I began talking to her in the back seat and didn’t get a reply, I knew something was wrong. I quickly turned around and saw that she was no longer safely buckled in her booster seat and, in fact, she was no longer in the car at all. Panic set in. Having only travelled about a half mile from our house, I quickly turned the car around and sped back down the street. As I pulled in the driveway, I could see her tiny shape, balled up, sitting on the grass in the front yard. Tears rolled into smiles as I picked her up and hugged her with all of my might. Such a simple thing, on such a typical day, yet it only takes a few seconds to turn your world upside down, right? I took advantage of the teachable moment and talked to her about safety, said a quick prayer of thanks, buckled her in (again) and off we went. That little voice in my head seemed to be talking louder than usual once again, and it urged me to hurry. While I am almost always a few minutes late for everything (my friends refer to it as “Tina Time”), looking back, I am not sure why I felt the need to rush. For once, I actually had more than enough time to pick out the new paintball supplies and deliver them to Andrew. While I always take the time to stop and chat with friends and acquaintances along my daily stops, even my conversation with a friend at the sporting goods store was cut short. That same inner voice that had spoken to me earlier that day in my driveway seemed to be pushing and pulling me to a specific moment in time. After finishing up at the sporting goods store, Olivia and I headed west to drop off the paintball supplies. Although I was somewhat familiar with the road that took me toward Andrew’s friend’s home, I had not travelled in that direction since our return from California. So, I was enjoying the scenery from a new vantage point, windows down, taking in the smells that were carried along in the fresh spring air. As I drove closer to town, I became a bit confused about which way I should turn, and I soon realized that I was on an unfamiliar stretch of road. Glancing around for the directions I had written, I saw the piece of paper across the car on the passenger’s seat. After checking the road ahead and in the mirror behind me, I reached over for the paper and checked the directions. Have you ever heard the term, “nanosecond”? Well, that’s what it seemed like. I had barely even looked at the directions when I felt what seemed like a big boom. I immediately thought that I had drifted to the side of the road and hit a road sign. If only that had been the case. Instead, a man, followed by his bicycle, literally flew over the passenger side of my car. My heart stopped, and my mind seemed to explode with fear and worry. “I hit a man! I hit a man!” I screamed. I put the car in park, ran around to the side of the car and found him, lying on the ground, in a pool of his own blood, gasping for air. I knew I shouldn’t touch him, but the urge to help was beyond reason. I grabbed my phone as quickly as I could and dialed 9-1-1. I started waving my arm, frantically, trying to flag down any person or driver that might see me. Finally, a car arrived, and then another, stopping to try as best as they could to help. “He came out of nowhere!” I cried, trying to focus on the people who had stopped at the scene. When they asked what they could do to help, all I could tell them was to pray. “Please,” I said, “get down on your knees and pray with me.” Waiting for the ambulance seemed to take forever, although I knew that the fire station was only a mile or two down the road. I was in shock and hysterical. The bleeding was more than I could have ever imagined. In the minutes that followed, I was somehow able to dial Lance’s number, but speaking to him seemed impossible. I could only sob into the phone, and he could not understand what I was saying. I could tell that he took me off of speaker phone, and I realized that he did that to keep my daughter, Brigette, who was riding with him in his car, from hearing my desperate call. I remember him telling Brigette that I had hit a deer, obviously to keep her from getting too upset. He told me that he would drop Brigette off at her soccer game and get to me as soon as he could. As I tried to process all that he said, I realized that Olivia remained in the back seat of my car, alone and probably terrified. I called out to the group of people that had gathered and told them that my daughter was still in the car, and a young girl was kind enough to climb into the backseat with Olivia and sit with her during the chaos. How grateful I was that she was uninjured. When the ambulance and state troopers finally arrived, they found me on the side of the road, literally on my knees in prayer. I was screaming out to God asking him, “What have I done?” Police cars, EMTs, passenger cars and people moved in and out of view, in a state which seemed utterly confusing to me. A familiar face appeared, a parent from Brigette’s school who had recognized my car, and I remember being so grateful for her presence at that horrible moment.