Today is the one-year-anniversary of one of the worst days of my life. My 16-year-old daughter’s car was T-boned and totaled. She was driving. The car toppled over (270 degrees). Some kind passers-by got there, they banged on the window, they asked her to open the sunroof that was now perpendicular to the ground. She tried. It opened a little and then jammed. The man yanked it, breaking it open and helped her crawl out of the misshapen heap of a car.
She was miraculously unhurt.
It was one of the worst days of my life. And yet all I could
feel that day was grateful.
My husband got the call that no parent ever wants to get. And
yet all I felt was grateful.
The car was totaled. I was grateful it was only the car.
My daughter had a concussion. I was grateful it was mild.
She was in terrible shock. Her nervous system seemed awry. I
was grateful I could find healing resources.
The next day she could barely walk (whiplash, shock,
adrenaline rush gone, bruises, soreness). I was grateful I could help her.
My husband and I were badly shaken up. I was grateful for the
force of gratitude that engulfed and held us, feeding us strength and fortitude
and even allowing us to crack jokes (bad ones, of course) in the ER.
She was going to miss the fencing Junior Olympics. It would hurt
her recruitment chances. I was grateful she would be able to fence again.
Neighbors and friends stopped by with treats and flowers. I
was grateful for them. Not a single sugary treat went to waste – we had a constant
trickle of teenagers.
Her friends stopped by with their youthful laughter and
cheer. She started to smile again. I was grateful for each one of them.
Yes, I find it strange that all I could feel on one of the
worst days was an overwhelming feeling of gratitude. I wanted to believe in every
God and every superior force that might be and thank them all for watching over
her.
I wanted to thank the kind strangers who came to her rescue.
The man who broke the sunroof with his bare hands and helped her crawl out. The
lady who sat on the pavement beside her and pulled glass pieces out of her
hair. The other lady who consoled her and lent my daughter her phone. They were
gone by the time my husband got there. They left when the paramedics arrived.
I will never know them. I will never meet them. I will never
forget these people who I will never have known. I will continue to thank them
in my heart. With all my heart. Forever.
Now trust me, I’m no born-optimist or anything sun-shiney
like that. I am probably somewhat/at-best hopeful but more in a hesitant, waiting-for-the-other-shoe-to-drop
way.
I am almost puzzled that my mind didn’t dwell on how it
could have been avoided. How she could have come home straight from school, how
she could have left a split-second later, or earlier, how the other car could
have been traveling slower (and possibly adhering to the speed limit), how…
how… how…
No, my mind would not travel to those places, refixing the
broken in my imagination, making it shiny and problem-free with different
outcomes, something I grudgingly admit, I am capable of. At times, with gusto.
True, I never want to go to that donut place again, but
other than that, my mind would not travel to any such areas of
could-have-beens. So engulfed was I in the gratitude of the moment. My child
was relatively unhurt and nothing else mattered.
I marvel at the wonder of it all. It must be a strength of
our species.
On one of the worst days of my life, if my most prevailing emotion can be gratitude, what a magnificent species we must be…
