“Cuz It’s Not My Time”

Dear That’s Life,
Never lacking material, my column was basically done before this morning’s events, most of which were covered on the local news. Whether I write about my children or the general wackiness of my life, I have been blessed with both a good sense of humor and numerous anecdotes worth sharing. It is safe to say, therefore, that I would have done just fine printing this week’s column the way it had already been written, instead of deleting it all and sharing this instead.

I have always been a true believer that everything happens for a reason. Good or bad, it was meant to be. That is exactly what I told my friend when I paid her a visit before her job interview. She was completely prepared and was feeling very positive when I wished her ‘good luck’. I told her that if she was meant to get the job, she would. If it did not work out, it was because there was something else in store. Although it might not be readily apparent, G-d works in mysterious ways and one day, everything would make sense.

The irony was that my morning was quite busy and visiting her was not exactly time I had to spare. When something is important, however, the effort is made. About ten minutes later, I understood exactly why I was meant to stop and see her, even if it had not been the most convenient time – because had I not been there and, instead, arrived at my next destination earlier, I might not have been writing this at all.

My next stop was to get my nails done. With plenty of open parking spaces, I parked close to the store but not right next to a van in the same area. Fortuitously, I left one spot vacant between us. Wallet in hand, I got out of my car and stood in that open parking space, ready to close my door. Even before I could do that, however, an out-of-control SUV slammed into the van, jumped the sidewalk and crashed through the nail salon’s storefront. Shattered glass flew everywhere. I dropped my wallet on the ground and stood, shocked.

“Someone call 911!” I heard someone shout. Like waking from a trance, I grabbed my phone and dialed. I explained what had occurred, where we were, and that the extent of damage and injuries was unknown. I was assured help was on the way. After the call was over, someone yelled that the driver was having a seizure. With numerous bystanders around, we needed to help her. “Does someone have something to break the windows?” a gentleman asked and the answer was ‘yes.’

The next time someone makes fun of the Swiss Army knife I carry, I will tell them how its glass breaker tool was used to smash a car window to rescue a driver in trouble. It worked perfectly. We were able to unlock the car doors and I climbed into the back seat. As the driver continued to seize and thrash, I asked someone to go through her purse and find out her name. I talked to her, asked her if she knew where she was, and told her she would be okay. She couldn’t respond or meet my gaze and I repeated myself over and over until the seizure stopped.

The police and ambulances arrived quickly. I was still in the car when they got there. With blood coming from her mouth and glass everywhere, the driver finally looked at me and asked, “What happened?” “You’ve been in an accident,” I said, “but you are going to be okay.” Then I climbed out of the car, saw the scene and my wallet spilled all over the ground. I began to shake. Only then did I realize the story could have had a very different ending. I called my husband and started to cry.

Business owners and shoppers quickly filled the area. One restaurateur whose shop was just a few feet away recognized me. She asked if I was okay – but I was not. “I was standing right there,” I said, pointing to the spot. “If I had been here 30 seconds earlier, I would have been hit.” Over and over, I found myself repeating the same thing. Had I been on the sidewalk, or parked right next to the van, or been closer to the nail salon door, the driver might not have been the only one rushed to the hospital. Instead, I had not a scratch. Going to see my friend before her interview saved my life. And as I shared this with the restaurant owner standing beside me, she looked at me and said, “G-d loves you, G-d loves you, G-d loves you,” as my tears steadily increased.

My husband got there just a few minutes later, while a sea of emergency responders continued working. I was sitting on the ground and he helped me up and hugged me tight. “I could have been right there,” I said, pointing again to the rubble. “But you aren’t,” he said, smiling. “You are right here.” Finally, with the driver on her way to the hospital, and the car removed from the storefront, it was time to go.

I reached into my pocket for my phone and texted my friend, reaching her right before her interview. “You literally saved my life,” I typed, adding that I would explain later. “Now you know what you’re going to write about this week,” said my husband with a smile, but I shook my head. “My column was basically done,” I said, “and to be honest – this is crazy I could have done without.”

There is never a bad time, however, for someone to say that G-d loves you. And while I appreciated hearing it, a Hallmark card would have done just fine. I am sure there’s one for that, too.

MLW
As Seen in the South Shore Standard Apr’ 2012