Welcome to Nevada

It’s amazing what kind of impact a 45 second change in direction can make. My choice of words is what some might deem ironic (although technically ‘non-impact’ and ‘on-course’ would be the ironic words) given their literal intent. The opening scene: 10am; pure, desert sunshine; crisp, dry, morning air; fresh squeezed orange/carrot juice; convertible top down; CD player set to a crooning Aussie rock band; open highway. A sip of juice and five minutes later another driver forgets to check his blind spot. The closing scene: squealing, fishtailing wheels; burnt rubber; blackened concrete wall; a skid mark spanning four highway lanes and a mangled, leaking, smoking car coming to rest on a bed of jagged rocks.

Aside: Does it seem strange to anyone that there are no airbags deployed in this picture? I will be having a long conversation with Ford on Monday.

That mental video clip has played over and over in my head at least 200 times today and I’m doing my best to avoid contemplating what ‘could’ have happened. I walked away unscathed as did each of my passengers. After the dust settled on my slightly bruised forehead, the tears commenced. I was unharmed and I could not have cared less about my mutilated vehicle. I was crying to drain the emotional panic that had erupted within me because I couldn’t see my husband for the entire 45 second duration of our accident. He had opted to spread out, unprotected across the back seat (giving his best buddy shot gun for our road trip). Until I heard my sweetheart’s voice from behind my headrest, after slamming head-on into a wall of concrete and spinning in a 360 across four lanes of oncoming highway traffic, I had no knowledge of his outcome. The idea of losing my universe of happiness was too much for my psyche to hold inside for long. Traumatic events are a frightening reminder to prioritize.