Okay. I was rear-ended a couple days ago. And today?
I was taking the children to school. Turned left onto a busy , 4-lane divided highway. And I got clipped. By this.
Please note, the left end corner of that trailer? That’s what hit our car. The driver barely noticed he hit me. He claims he was just changing lanes and I turned into him. What really happened: he was driving down the center lane. I was waiting to turn into the left lane. My lane was clear, so I turned. But he changed lanes into mine, within one or two seconds of my turn. He didn’t check his blind spot — a blind spot which must be HUGE. But it’s my word against his. (Well, my kids were there too, but police don’t tend to interview young passengers.)
What are the odds, of getting rear-ended by a guy with failing brakes, and then two days later getting clipped by a truck/trailer with a driver who doesn’t look behind him, and in both instances, not getting hurt?
Pretty low, I’d guess.
I am so very, very, very lucky. I don’t know what I did to deserve my luck. I have a great husband, who works hard and earns well to take care of us. I work hard to raise our children, maintain our home, conserve and save the money my husband earns, and secure my own employment and earnings (slowly but surely). We have healthy, happy children — they each just made “Student of the Month” yesterday, for pete’s sake. My brother, my sister, their families, my parents… my husband’s brothers and families, his mother. We’re all relatively healthy, and rather happy.
Yet I worry a lot. “Am I doing enough? Am I lazy? Should I have foreseen this? Should I avoided that? Should I have known better? Is everybody okay?” They make up a constant refrain.
Another writer I know posted a timely piece on giving the gift of no guilt during this holiday season. It’s good advice, though I must admit I rarely feel guilty about letting friends and family down. Guilt might describe, however, this weird sensation I feel over the events of this week: these accidents that could have been so much worse but somehow, my kids and I are okay. These things that happen in this happy life I live, that turn out to be little speed bumps on a clear, straight road.
That guilt, the dreaded g-word… I think in my mind, it serves a purpose. You know, how when things are so good, almost too good, so you sit around worrying and waiting for the other shoe to drop? I feel like I’m padding the floor with guilt, so that when that shoe does drop, it lands softly, makes less noise, hurts less…
Or maybe that’s not the g-word I’m feeling.
Maybe it’s just an insane, immeasurable amount of gratitude. Fluffy, soft, thick, cozy gratitude.