I told myself I wouldn’t post
about it this year, but it was a night that changed mine and my
daughters’ lives forever. How do I
not acknowledge it somehow?
Some may think I’m giving it power over me, but I feel as though every
time I talk about it, that power weakens and makes me a stronger person.
Two years ago today a man committed suicide by walking into the path of our car.
It was a little after 8 p.m., my daughters and I had just left a
shopping center we rarely went to because it was a bit of a drive.
Shortly after getting on to Highway 101, I had settled into the far-left
lane, Dawn sitting in the passenger seat to my right, Valerie in the
back seat directly behind me. Traffic was light, it was very dark, no
lights shine on that particular stretch of highway. In a flash, I saw
the man as he stepped across the line from the middle lane into mine.
There was nothing I could do, all at once I heard myself make a noise
(of disbelief, a person!), slammed on my brakes, held tight to the
steering wheel and turned my face toward my side window and away from
the windshield’s glass and dirt from the highway that hit us full on as
this person made impact and then tumbled along the length of our car.
I managed to get my window down so I could see where I was going and
pull the car over to the median. We didn’t spin out. We didn’t flip. We
were alive! Dawn and I were spitting out shattered glass and dirt, and I
kept screaming, “I hit a person! I hit a person!” and Dawn kept looking
at me like she wasn’t hearing me (later she said her brain told her it
was a tree or a pole or something). We couldn’t wrap our brains around
what happened. I wouldn’t let anyone leave the car because I’d heard of
people getting hit by passing cars. Or maybe I was frozen with fear, I
don’t know, but when we saw headlights pull over behind us, we finally
crawled out of the car, all of us covered with tiny shards of glass
(weeks later we were still finding it in our skin).
Valerie, my brave Valerie, told us to stay where we were and walked
back toward the headlights of the CHP, the man’s body silhouetted on the
ground in front of them. We watched as she spoke with the officer,
watched as he bent down to check the still figure on the ground. When
she walked back to us and told us the man was dead I felt like I had
lost my mind, the grief was so all encompassing. It was a night that
never ended.
When I would hear about people having some type of catastrophic
experience I’d think, oh, man, how awful, those poor people and then go
on with my life. But now I look at them in a whole new way, I know the
terror, fear, grief doesn’t stop when the incident is over. We have yet
to find the right counselor(s) to help us work through this properly.
It’s better, but we’ve all been left with
PTSD
and still struggle with what happened. The nightmares are less
frequent, but I still have them, and sometimes I can’t get it together
enough to get dressed, cook dinner, clean house, let alone go anywhere. I
especially don’t like to drive, but I do it because it’s such an
integral part of my independence.
But the thing that makes me feel the saddest is how it took away the
innocence of my daughters, that joy that is innate in all of us before
something tarnishes us. We are working to bring some of that joy back
into all of our lives. We are broken, but who isn’t to some degree? We
will be okay.
“We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but
not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not
destroyed.” 2 Corinthians 4: 8-9
Killing yourself may end your pain, but it only creates more for
those left behind. If you or anyone you know is having suicidal
thoughts, please, seek help, 1-800-SUICIDE, that’s 1-800-784-2433.