Reality Check

Saturday was not exactly one of my better days.

It started out on a good note. In two weeks, Mariana will be receiving the Sacrament of Reconciliation for the first time, so Saturday morning she and I attended the CCD class at our parish to help her get ready for that big moment. I just love the innocence and sweetness of this age, especially as they are preparing to receive the Sacraments. And one-on-one time with one of my babies is always a treat.

On the way home, my day took a turn for the worse, when we ran out of gas on a busy four lane road. I was driving our brand new little Scion hatchback, which Jim usually drives, and it never occurred to me to check the gas gauge. My dear husband had been running late the night before, decided not to stop to fill the tank, and forgot to tell me before we left for the church. These things happen to parents of six children.

When I first realized something was wrong, I noticed a driveway into an industrial parking lot, and for a split second, I contemplated pulling into it. Why I kept going, I'll never know, and believe me, I have asked myself that question a million times since then. The car slowly rolled to a stop as I finally looked down at the dashboard and understood what had happened. There was a curb and no way to get off the road, so I turned on my hazard lights and tried to call Jim.

Cell phone dead. Of course.

Charger in van. Of course.

Think quick, Diane, what to do? We were sitting on an upwards incline, so in between traffic cycles I let the car roll backwards a little, hoping to find a way to maneuver us onto that driveway about fifty yards back. I knew that once I had the car parked safely off the road, Mariana and I could walk to the gas station we had just passed.

The car was stopped. I was looking backwards, waiting for the oncoming traffic to pass us, and suddenly noticed a Cadillac rapidly approaching. It neither slowed nor moved to the left, so I pressed hard on my horn. WHAM! In the blink of an eye, that big black car knocked us right off the road.

Mariana immediately started crying and screaming for her daddy. I made sure that she wasn't hurt and assured her that I would call Jim as soon as I could. Several very kind people stopped to help, which turned out to be a very good thing, because the elderly man driving the Cadillac was confused about what had happened. He hadn't realized my car was stopped. He accused me of braking suddenly in front of him to make a turn and denied that my hazard lights had been on. He became very agitated and defensive. I really don't think he should have been driving in the first place.

I borrowed a cell phone to call Jim and the police. Three police cars, an ambulance, and a fire truck arrived on the scene, which was rather alarming to my poor husband as he drove up the street. Several of the witnesses had stayed to offer their report to the officers, and all expressed concern over the welfare of my child crying in the back seat. Mariana was clearly upset but otherwise not seriously hurt. Eventually the driver of the other car calmed down, realized what he had done, and was sincerely apologetic. Thankfully, he has insurance, which will pay for all of the repairs.

I had a lot of time to sit and wait. Waiting for the police to arrive. Waiting for Jim to arrive. Waiting for the police to complete the report. Waiting for Jim to return with a can of gasoline. A whole lot of time to sit and wait and think.

Of course, everyone's first response in such a situation is to say that the important thing is that no one was hurt. I was grateful that no one was hurt. But once I was past that initial spark of gratitude, it was just too easy to start feeling sorry for myself.

I re-lived the scene a hundred times in my mind. I questioned why. I thought about what I could have done---should have done---differently. I thought about all of the things I would have to do in the coming days, things I hadn't factored into my already way too busy schedule. Calling the insurance companies, getting an appraisal of the damage, picking up a rental car, finding a body shop. I knew our brand new little car would never be the same.

I was bothered. And I wouldn't let it go.

Late last night, my sister remarked how amazing it was that our car hadn't received more damage. The other, much bigger, car had been totalled; our, much smaller, car had a smashed bumper and a slightly bent frame. There is very little space between the rear bumper and the back seat where Mariana had been sitting. We both agreed that our guardian angels must have been protecting us.

Suddenly, my mind flashed to a far different scenario, and I was given a glimpse of what might have been. My beautiful child was wailing, covered in blood, gasping for breath. I saw myself struggling to comfort and save her. I witnessed a funeral and then the impossible, unthinkable task of living my life without her. These horribly painful imaginings flooded my heart.

In an instant, I found myself overwhelmingly grateful for that smashed bumper and all that it had to teach me. The body of my car will easily be rebuilt, but the beauty of my daughter's soul could never be replaced. What an incredible blessing she is, an exquisite gift I should never take for granted. People are more important than things, my mother used to say. Infinitely more important.

Sometimes it takes a bit of inconvenience to remind us.


***Just want to let you know that my blogging will be light during Lent. I'll be writing and reading just one day a week, and giving up reading the beautiful blogs I love to visit is the far greater sacrifice. I don't believe I'm being called to fast completely---my online friends provide too much encouragement and support for that---but I do need to re-focus and re-balance my crazy life. I am, however, not fasting from email. ;)