A Micro Second Death Face

I remember the headlights and the shiny bumper on the white SUV. I was swerving and my husband was yelling at me, “You’re going to roll the car!”

The only thing separating vehicles from other vehicles on the road is about five feet of air and an imaginary do not cross barrier. What are drivers on these days? How many believe they’re experienced drivers who are immune to the effects of alcohol or hard drugs, or marijuana for the argument? Or was he texting?

My car didn’t roll, but I felt the unsteady jerking beneath me. I had swerved to the right towards the soft, gravel shoulder, and the SUV driver swerved to the left, missing my little Hyundai Accent by mere inches, tucking himself back in. He couldn’t see us when he thought he could pass? There was no warning. He drove out directly in front me.

That’s all I remember. My husband yelling, near tipping of my car, and the white SUV’s headlights and shiny bumper.

My life is forever changed.

Everything I have worked for, everyone I have loved or not loved, every sticky note I’ve written to remind myself of something wouldn’t matter beyond the micro second that it takes to die, then leave my body, and watch the vehicles embrace, in a crunching tangle from my soul floating 20 feet above. I’d look for my husband as he was extracted. He’d be limp and bent unnaturally. I’d try to see myself behind the battered face I used to recognize. The emergency team would pull my squashed body out. I’d see my husband looking, too. We’d then see each other hovering above the chaos, and we’d remember the discussions we so often had about dying together as neither of us could bear the emptiness if we were left behind. Also, there he would be, the drunk driver being extracted from his white SUV. He’d be bloodied and crying, repeatedly saying he’s so sorry. He’d be banged up, but he’d see his loved ones again. He’d finish projects, he’ll drink again.

He’ll forget about the people he killed when he drinks himself to sleep, but the dead will be there every time he wakes.

Nothing would matter anymore. Not my novel which was accepted by a trustworthy publisher, not the closet I meant to clean out, not the computer I am writing this on— nothing. Not a thing would matter. Our lives would matter to all who had to receive the dreaded news, though. Our grown kids, our friends. Our bosses. Our innocent cats who always wait to hear the door open would be surprised as family came in to do what had to be done. Maybe our cats would pine to death in a shelter, separated from us and each other.

None of this death aftermath happened, though, but my life has changed nonetheless.

Thank God we are alive. No one can tell me God didn’t have the last say at that near head on collision. Why am I here? I’m going to find out. We all should find out why we’re here. A micro second wipe out could be anyone’s ultimate fate, but when?

Live before you leave. Really, really live. God Bless.

Time Has No Wings

The tick of the clock can be a hollow sound. The hollow sound is the waiting, waiting, waiting, like the echo of hard soles of shoes in a dark ally.

There are no wings on time. It doesn’t fly, it passes slowly. The sluggish tick, tick, tick on the hourly tocks about waiting. Time holds us prisoner, it keeps us still in the moments of pause.

When time is not sluggish, it’s pushy. Do this, do that, do it all in a short day, but still, time has no wings. If it did, time traffic would collide.

Swift or dawdling, time has its own agenda. Waste it and we’re sorry we missed it. Use it and we look back on what we did. Spend time on what matters the most if you can.

Notice Time. That’s all it wants.

Waiting Wilts or Strengthens

In a year, time waits for no one; birthdays and holidays seems to repeat themselves frequency.

How is then when we wait weeks, perhaps months for something personally important to us, time moves like a dangling drip from a faucet? It drops eventually, but like a pot put on to boil, it is best not to watch.

Patience is a virtue. A virtue is integrity. Integrity is good character, and this means patience is a good and moral act. It’s a hard act, though. Nothing easy produces great results, slow and steady wins the race. Still hard.

People don’t like to wait. Is it a societal thing? With today’s technology, we wait micro seconds for most things. There’s not even enough time to chew a bite of an apple waiting for something to react to our command on a computer. In nature, that apple took from spring till autumn to ripen.

I’m going though a season of waiting. “Good things take time,” they say. The thing about waiting is the worry often accompanies a long wait. What’s the hold up? Is it supposed to take this long? Has it been cancelled? Have I been forgotten?

Waiting wilts or strengthens we humans. If we worry, we wilt. If we imagine how long it takes an apple to ripen, perhaps we’ll be put things into perspective. Once we get through the waiting, we’re strengthened by having patience with a reward: the thing, the product, the reply. We must wait, the prize will present. After all, nothing happens faster when we worry about the wait; except one thing: wilting.

World Disasters

The most frightening thing in the world is losing our world. Everything we worked to have, everything we love, and people we love, even out pets.

I feel deeply for those affected by fires, floods and earthquakes.

My prayers are with the scared, the injured, and those left to carry on without loved ones and beloved pets.

If you’re reading this, you’re safe. Thank God.

Disconnect and Disrespect

A glance at a cell phone’s screen, and the decision is made to ignore or answer. Or the cell is shut off thus giving the servant of it pause from notifications etcetera. However, these days a cell contains the world and all its information—and people, so it is everything and everyone being shut out when the cell’s off.

One problem with this is adult kids have aging parents. Sometimes it takes many hours for a call to be noticed, and by then a parent might already be processed and in a morgue. This sounds dramatic, however, it’s a reality of disconnection.

With social media, being connected is also being disconnected. For instance, I often go to my favourite coffee shop alone to have a coffee break from my writing work. More often than not I see two at a table, coffee steaming, and cells in hands. An actual caller rings, gets a glance, and is ignored. As much as we think we’re more connected with fellow humans, we couldn’t be more wrong.

Respect is denied. The cell seems to dictate decisions. Answering a text is somehow easier than hearing a live voice. “Text me,” is more common than “Call me.” Ignoring a caller is more common than simply making a call short, yet humans subscribe to Bluetooth in their car.

I observe this and feel justified for not having data on my cell. I use it to hear my husband’s voice tell me he is safe on his dangerous job. I have a desk top computer. I have a landline. If I’m missing something, I’m yet to notice.

A cell phone is a tool which has become the unscrupulous, multitasking master of human minds, and aging parents often have no way to reach their kids. Landlines are antiquated. Disrespect is fresh and alive; it’ll be a while before it’s outdated.

Thanks for reading~