Was I Just Spared - Again?
A Three-minute Read - Non-fiction
I remember so clearly my sense of relief. It was mid-afternoon as I rode my mountain bike up the second half of a driveway next to a tall, tan, brick house. It was two weeks ago, and though my mind at that time seemed like a blank slate, I had a sneaking suspicion this house was the one - the home we’d been living in for five years. Progressively thinking I’d found it; I walked into the fenced back yard and took in my wife’s many gardens. And then I saw her and our eight-year-old granddaughter “Belle” in their fairy-themed garden.
Emily, seeing that I looked confused, and flustered, asked if I was alright, to which I could only respond - “I don’t know where my bike goes!” As she approached, pointing to the garden shed, I answered - “There’s a crack in my helmet, I think I must have had an accident. What is Belle doing here? I don’t know why you’re here, but I'm glad you are!”
As Emily briefly explained that we’d ALL spent the morning together playing miniature golf, she led me into the house and said - we have to go to the hospital. I agreed and surprisingly thought of the need to get my wallet. However, I had no idea where it would be. As I stood at the base of our staircase, Emily suggested “it’s probably on your dresser.” But I had no idea where our bedroom was. Belle took charge with her sweet “follow me.”
After grabbing my wallet, I washed some blood and dirt off the back of my shoulder and elbow so I could sit in the car. Emily was “happy to drive” since I apparently didn’t look up to the task. I noticed a large number of political signs on the way and asked who the president was, since the cooler day suggested it might be November. To add to my confusion, she knew a surprisingly large amount about all of the ongoing changes to the out-of-town hospital, as we approached. *
Apparently, the ER staff agreed with my hunch that I’d had a head injury, as they whisked Emily and Belle to the waiting room and had me back for x-rays and CT scans within minutes. My memory was very patchy at best, but it seemed like time raced by. Though nurses and doctors were coming and going, it was during a lull in traffic, when my eyes were closed, that I slowly got an isolated snapshot of a key memory.
There it was, a deep ditch crossing the trail a few feet in front of my skidding, locked tires. Absolutely nothing before, and nothing after. To this day, I have ZERO recollection of anything that happened over the miles before or after this ditch - until I just “appeared” halfway up my driveway.
I don’t know if or how I negotiated the traffic at the half dozen stop signs or traffic light before I eventually crossed the main drag which leads to our house.
for several hours I’d completely forgotten my wife had Stage IV cancer (click here for recent post - Going Head Over Heels with Cancer”).
Between that fleeting image, my cracked helmet, and the deep scrape on the back of my shoulder, I’ve deduced that I probably did a three-quarter flip after my front tire dropped into the rut - landing me on the rocky road. This old guy could have gotten seriously hurt, but I apparently rode off into the sunset with minor injuries. It’s not that I’m a tough dude; I’m not. I’ve demonstrated countless times that I break when I fall from heights or encounter immovable objects like trees.
Could it be that, once again I was spared?
Three different times over the course of my life I’ve escaped serious injury when all the laws of physics screamed - “not this time.”
How many of us can tell similar tales of woe? I don’t think I’m alone here, in more ways than one. At this point in my life however, my wife and family really need me more than ever and I’m extremely grateful that I’m “carrying on.” But there are innumerable cases of critical care givers being taken out of service in great times of need. Why am I still sitting here with merely a headache?
Some people might say that I’m just lucky. Others might reassure me “God intervened.” Others, would suggest, “it’s your guardian angel.” And to each one of them, I say, you may be right.
But in the still and deepest quiet, I merely say a most hearty thank you and slide over to make a little more room for divine mystery.
Jeeez, Mark ... you and Emily certainly didn't need this on top of everything else. I'm glad you're "okay," evidently, but your brain will need time to recover. Be gentle and good to yourself, and keep us posted on your progress.
"But in the still and deepest quiet, I merely say a most hearty thank you and slide over to make a little more room for divine mystery."
Wow, this was a tough one to read, Mark. The opening lines were alarming, knowing how much your family is depending on you at this time. So glad you're okay and yeah, like it or not, you're a tough guy in the very best sense of the phrase.