December 5: Less Than 24 Hours Later

I was in a collision today. I’ve never been in a collision. Well, Phil backed a rental car into a car parked illegally, and Phil hit a turkey that caused $3000 damage to a different rental car, but I have never been in a moving-car-accident.

Caleb and I were heading to his frenectomy. He was born a tongue-tied and has dealt with gulping air and choking—not horribly, but enough to be a concern. I am ready for him to be happier and to stop smacking, so I was very committed to getting to this appointment (not to mention that I didn’t want to pay for an appointment I didn’t keep).

I was almost to the dentist’s office, about two blocks away, 15 minutes early for my 10:30 appointment. The light at the double left turn changed to green as I was approaching. There were maybe six cars in the right lane and one in the left lane. The car in the left lane did a U-turn, so the left lane was clear for me.

I thought, “I shouldn’t race through this turn, because I will probably make it, and none of these cars has seen me; no need to rush through their blind spot.” And then, “I hope I make this trajectory correctly,” as the intersection is enormous and I always want to make sure I stay in my lane when I have to drive the length of a football field without lines to guide me. I flicked my eyes in the direction I would be going, and then, when I flicked back, realized that the driver in the right lane was doing an illegal U-turn. He was older, and I wonder if he didn’t realize it was a double left.

I witnessed an accident as a child, and it was terrifying. So I was interested to observe that in the split second that I was braking and realized there was nothing I could do to prevent the accident, I had total peace. There was nothing I could do, I was doing nothing wrong, but two cars cannot occupy the same space. "So this is what an accident feels like."

I was pushed over the median, then drove slowly into the nearest parking lot. I must have been going quite slowly, as the airbag did not deploy and Caleb slept through the whole thing. Right now, ten hours later, I haven’t felt any soreness or pain.

The other car was more disabled, it appeared, but eventually followed. Something had punctured the tire of the vehicle, so I’m sure it was hard to drive. But since four lanes of traffic were coming, I’m glad he was able to clear the road.

“Are you okay?” the passenger asked first thing. The driver got out then. He was shaken to the extent that he could hardly stand, and, when I left, both a fire truck and an ambulance had arrived. I would not be surprised if he was having a heart attack. He was holding his heart and staggering, and I could hardly get a word out of him. I got his name, but no other information.

I told the police officer, when he arrived, that I had a vital appointment that I would really like to make. He took my information, and I drove—slowly—the quarter mile to the appointment.

The frenectomy lasted almost an hour, and Caleb screamed the whole time. It felt like a fitting coda to a stressful morning.

Afterwards, I finally was able to reach Phil. (We had called each other repeatedly at the time of the accident, but were not able to connect. The bummer of living in the country with spotty cell service.)

Then I spent almost two hours on the phone. The insurance company. Phil. Finding the name of a body shop. I was comfortable in the dentist’s waiting room, had a constant stream of tears in relative privacy, and Caleb, exhausted from his ordeal, slept or ate the whole time.

I had a few panic moments. I was an hour from home, and our one vehicle was probably totaled. (Considering that hitting a turkey caused $3000 in damage, and the fact that the passenger door no longer opens, I think a moving collision finished off our van.) The tow truck would come … sometime. I spent 16 minutes trying to tell an insurance person the final destination of the tow truck, and finally gave up. Phil contacted them. I needed a rental car, but didn’t want to get the rental shuttle before the tow truck came. It felt like a stagnating mess.

But now see the provision of the Lord. Besides, of course, the fact that I walked away from an accident.

I called my friend Claire to find out the name of our mutual friend’s body shop. She said, “I’m in town. I will bring you where you need to go. We were going to go to Chipotle in a few minutes. I will bring you Chipotle.” Furthermore, she and her daughters were actually coming to the exact same dentist at 2pm.

When they showed up shortly before 2, I was just finishing getting almost all my stuff out of the van. They had shopping bags to easily transport the various town shoes (less dirty, and stored in the car) and CDs and various building supplies. One noticed the charger that I would have forgotten.

The tow truck showed up then, too. No problem with that.

And, driving separately, Claire's husband arrived also. “I’m taking you to my house and you can take the Suburban home.” So I ate as Louis drove and talked, and then drove the Suburban home. No need to get a rental car, and deal with town driving when I was wiped out. What a great blessing.

Back in mid-October we had asked about buying their Suburban, actually, before I looked at what we had spent for the electrical work and realized we had no extra money at the time.

Caleb slept all the way home. I cried most of the way. I loved that little minivan: its cruise control, how it seated 8, the zippy way it would get off from a stop, how quiet it was, how much it could store.

In some ways, this is a season of both deep gratitude, for the season we’re coming to, and a season of grief.

And then I came in to find Isaiah was making dinner. When the family found out that I was in an accident, they suggested various things to help me: cleaning up, making dinner, praying for me.

I am so grateful they did that, because Caleb's mouth clearly pained him, and he cried inconsolably from 5pm until he fell asleep, wiped out, at 10pm. I am so grateful that he slept during all my calls earlier in the day (I cannot even imagine how bad it would have been otherwise), but sad babies are so hard to deal with. Feel better, baby!