As bumpers collide, airbags deploy, and your insurance premium skyrockets, you remain breathing, conscious, and alive. Reaching to unlatch your seat belt, you notice the cuts on your hands from the shattered glass. You manage to unlock the driver's side door and exit your car, breathing, conscious, and alive. You look around and notice the damage done to the four surrounding vehicles, the scent of freshly burned rubber in the air. The sound of a crying baby is coming from the car in front of you as you approach to check the condition of its passengers. The passengers of the other cars involved are all conscious, breathing and alive, gathered around as you check the pulse of the driver. She is unconscious, not breathing, and barely alive.
In a state of shock, you dial 911 and report the accident. As the police and ambulance arrive at the scene, you realize you will be missing your best friend's birthday shindig. The wave of events replay in your mind's eye repeatedly as you recollect information for the accident report. The mother of a two year old boy is reported alive, in critical condition, as you watch the medical team perform tests and carry her away. You have a moment of pause. Everything around you keeps moving and you become still, removed, detached. It is as if you have activated invisible mode and disappeared from reality while your body remains present. A cloud hangs over your head. You feel the weight of your actions. Wishing your mind was a time machine, you escape into timelessness, a space devoid of time.
The next morning, you call your friend and tell them you are sorry for missing their birthday. You explain why you didn't make it. They forgive you upon finding out. Later that day, you visit the young mother in the hospital and express how deeply sorry you are. You speak to your manager at work and explain that you will need some time off to attend to legal matters, and express how thankful you are for his understanding. The next few weeks and months will be challenging at best.
As time passes, the lady from the accident recovers with minor brain damage, you return to work, and you have mild nightmares about the accident on some nights. Life is different, slower. Everyone involved in the accident has granted you forgiveness, except for you. You wake up every morning remembering the moment that changed your life, and you feel as though nothing can change the guilt and remorse you experience.
Then, one day, as you are sitting down eating lunch at a local deli, a little girl walks down the aisle and trips with a cup of fruit juice that splashes all over your white dress shirt. She appears to be around seven or eight years old. She looks up at you and says, "Sorry, Mister." You help her up and tell her "that's OK. I know it was an accident." You are both still conscious, breathing, and alive.
As you lay in bed later that night, your time machine returns you to the present. Staring at the ceiling, you notice a faint voice that sounds like a child saying "I'm sorry". You listen closely, and the voice becomes more clear. It is the voice of a little boy you recognize vaguely. You feel as though you knew him once. His voice sounds more and more familiar. You respond, "It's OK. I forgive you." You can see him now. He looks right at you and says "thank you." You reflect on the joys and sorrows in your life and say thank you and sorry for them all. You are still conscious, breathing, and alive.
1 comment:
forgiving yourself or someone else is healing and a spiritual experience. it is tough to do but rewarding to do it. it is humbling and takes bravery to face the music. but if you love dancing.....you know how great it is to listen and just dance. and when you are forgiving of yourself....truly forgiving of yourself: the dance never ends. the kid in us always wants to play and dance. love you buddy. great story.
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