My parents were visiting for Christmas, which meant I was able to drive my six-year- old son to school, instead of sending him there on the bus while I say at home with my daughter. This was a little luxury, as I was able to let him sleep a good twenty minutes longer, I got to drop him off at the doorstep of his school, send him off with lots of "I love you"s and fresh kisses. I got to see that he got to school with my own two eyes, then make my way back home through the light of the rising sun to begin my day with my daughter.
This particular day was strange from the get-go. It had been really REALLY cold for a few days, in only the way it can be really REALLY cold in Alberta. However on this morning a warm breeze was blowing in, which created a thick ice-fog everywhere. It was a little strange but mostly beautiful. Everything was so quiet and still, cloaked in a white cotton candy blanket. The rising sun above the fog painted the world as it saw fit, changing its mind every few moments. Pink one minute, orange the next. Icy yellow, then robin egg blue. Surreal.
I woke up my son, deep into his sleep, thankful that I was at least able to let him rest that precious extra twenty or so minutes. He groggily awoke, I helped him get dressed and got him his breakfast. Oatmeal or toast, pancakes or eggs. I can't remember now what it was. A glass of milk. His vitamins. Thorough brushing of teeth and wiping of face. A little hair gel for good measure. Lip moisturizer to protect his ever-cracking lips during this terribly cold winter. Snowsuit, mittens, scarf, toque, boots, backpack, lunch, wave goodbye to Nanna and Grandpa, hop into my truck, away we go.
I remember I hadn't slept well the night before and was trying to mentally wake up with a travel mug of coffee. I felt as fuzzy-headed as the world seemed to be, with it's foggy blanket on that silent white morning. I commented to my son on how terribly strange the fog was. How THICK it was. How palatable, almost.
I could barely see ten feet in front of me, so I took it slow. I was extra-aware of how tired I was and how cautious I had to be because I was groggy and because of the fog. We slowly made our way towards the highway that would bring us to the school.
Heading south, we evenutally had to turn ourselves eastward, turning left onto a four-lane highway. There were many cars that morning, people off to work, to school, starting their day much as we were. I remember thinking how very careful I had to be making this left handed turn onto the highway. It's a terrible area at the best of times with no traffic signal to help you manage the speeding lanes of traffic at this four way intersection. I remember thinking "Make sure the way is REALLY clear.... you can't see anything!!".
I hummed along to the radio as my son sat in the backseat, chatting with him about his friends and his day ahead. I made the turn and paused in the safety of the median of the intersection, double-checking the way was clear, peering through the fog for headlights. Then I slowly made my way onto the Eastbound lane.
And then it hit me - or it nearly did. There was a car coming in the lane I had just entered. And it was coming fast. In the blink of an eye, this driver managed to get around me, dodge the vehicles in the adjacent lane, give me a hearty finger over his right shoulder, honk his horn in an irritated fashion, and continue on his way, all without mechanical or bodily harm. It was over almost before it began.
In that moment, I was a bit oblivious to what had happened, or more accurately, what HADN'T happened. It took me a half-second to realize I had made a mis-step, and was the cause of how this driver had to behave. I was a little annoyed by being told to f#ck off, but otherwise shrugged at the situation and moseyed on my way.
It wasn't until I had nearly reached the school, maybe five minutes later, that the gravity of what I had nearly done really sunk in. Had it been another, less reactive driver, that oncoming car I truly hadn't seen - I DID NOT SEE IT! - would have slammed into us at 100km/hr or faster. Best case, it would have done some terrible damage to the rear of my vehicle. Worst case, it would have been a direct hit to my son's door.
I began to shake and consciously tried to calm down so my son wouldn't think I was upset. I pulled deep breaths into my lungs and held tightly to the wheel, my mouth dry. I turned off the radio. I drove incredibly slowly the rest of the way. I pulled into the school parking lot and let my son out at the curb. I fought the urge to leap from my truck and pull him into my arms and sob into the shoulder of his snowsuit. I settled for telling him I loved him and waving goodbye, and waited until I saw him open the door of the school, ignoring the long line of cars behind me waiting for me to move so they could do the same.
The rest of the day was filled with this looming sense of doom. The what-ifs of that horrible 2 or 3 seconds clung to me all day, making my eyes fill with terrible hot tears, taking away my appetite and any remaining energy I had. I felt so lucky and guilty and chaotic and irresponsible. I tried to shut the images of what could have happened from my mind, but they crept in anyway. The awful potential that I could have made a tiny, terrible mistake that could have left my life so broken.
And then, later, I said a silent prayer of thanks. Someone was looking out for me in that moment. Actually, at least two people were. He was, with a capital "H". And then there was the fellow who told me to go f#ck off as he whizzed past me in his car, right middle finger pointing skyward for my benefit. I wish I could know who he is. Compliment him on his amazing reaction time. Thank them. Apologize. Hug him. And tell him that by avoiding hitting me, he saved more than just an accident.
If it hadn't been for him, that foggy day of feeling cold and lost and disoriented would have been the rest of my life. Wandering in a world that is almost the way you expect it to be, but somehow is not. The fog would have kept the sun away. The accident may have kept my son away.
That afternoon, I picked up my son from school and held tightly to him. I gave him extra hugs and kisses that night. I gave him extra dessert. Over the next few days I tried to cut myself some slack for making a mistake that mercifully morphed only into a wakeup call. I made peace with it, tried to learn, and moved on. Reflection and prayers and thankfulness.
But still. I was never so glad to have been given the finger.
F#ck you. Bless you. Thank you.
-TDW
