Close Call Reminds Me There Are Many Ways To Go

The event described in this column took place on one of the mission trips I went on this past summer but it has taken me until now to be able to write about it. The truck carrying the roof shingles I was unloading that day had to park at the bottom of an uphill driveway. Though the truck was partially protruding into the street, it was a relatively quiet stretch of road with only a few cars passing by each hour. The routine required me to step up into the enclosed U-Haul type truck, hoist a rather heavy bundled pack of shingles over my shoulder, blindly step off the back of the truck into the road, and trudge my way up the hill to the stacked pile near the house. I did this 15-20 times without incident. On my final trip, I followed the normal procedure and hopped down onto the street as usual without the benefit of being able to view oncoming traffic. The moment my feet hit the pavement, a car zoomed past me, missing me by inches. They never saw me. The only thing I can remember seeing was the flash of a front bumper barely missing my leg. The speeding car had swerved over to my side of the street to avoid something or other and was actually on the wrong side of the road- the side occupied by my 45-year-old body. The impact of what happened didn’t hit me for about thirty seconds. But as I walked up the hill with my load, I noticed my legs turned to Jello and my knees began to wobble. My spine tingled, my ears rang, and my stomach twisted itself into knots. I stopped dead in my tracks and realized I had narrowly escaped what would have been certain death. I whispered mean things to myself like, “You’re an absolute idiot” and “Way to go, moron.” Then anger gave way to relief and I thanked God that I was alive. No one else had witnessed the incident- so after a minute or two of trying to convince my bladder not to moisturize my underwear, I continued my journey as if nothing had happened. But something had happened. I had gained a deeper appreciation for life. I now realize I can go at any moment. I could get bitten by one of those brown recluse spiders or a poisonous snake, both of which have at one time or another taken up residence in the crawl space under my house. I could accidentally eat a Brazil nut, which would quickly do me in if I didn’t have some Benadryl on hand. The Drop Tower ride at Carowinds could malfunction with me strapped inside it. I could explode after eating an entire loaf of liver mush in one sitting. A meteorite could crash into my house. Or I could be an accidental stowaway on a runaway helium balloon contraption one of my family members created as a publicity stunt to get on reality television. Or I could die of shock if my beloved and pathetic Pittsburgh Pirates made the baseball playoffs anytime in the foreseeable future. So many ways to go. Makes me want to stop and appreciate every precious moment I’ve been given. I think that’s what I’ll do. And I’ll also start looking both ways before crossing.