I’m not going to do my usual Sunday "Modern Love" blogging today (the column didn’t look too interesting, anyway) because I have to get something off my mind: the head on car crash I had yesterday.  Fortunately, everyone walked away, but it was stark reminder of the fragility of modern life.

    It was snowing lightly, the streets were covered with a thin layer of slush and powder: a fairly common occurrence around here this time of year.  When confronted with such weather, I unconsciously shift into my winter driving habits: slow down a bit, be careful on the breaks, etc. 

    I was taking my daughter to her school, where there was to be a student-alumna field hockey game.  We expected that the game would be called off for the snow, but there would also be a lunch gathering; so, we were happily on our way, driving up a road we use five days a week.  As we turned a bend and started up a long, gently sloping hill, I saw a car at the top coming down toward us.  Slowly that car drifted into my lane.  I thought she was just trying to avoid something on her side of the street and fully expected her to move back out of my way.  But as we moved up the hill, she was aimed straight for us.  I started saying something to Maggie, there next to me in the passenger seat.  I don’t remember exactly what it was; something like: watch out, watch out… 

     A thousand thoughts rushed through my head.  Should I
move into the other lane to avoid the car?  What if it corrected and
hit Maggie’s side of the van?  Should I try to run off the road to the
right?  What if I hit the trees there on Maggie’s side?  Trying to
balance how to respond to the oncoming crash and how to shield Maggie
from the collision froze me and I kept straight on into the sliding
car.  Crash.  Bang. 

    The crumpling sound of metal on metal was
punctuated by the exploding airbags.  We lurched forward and then back,
violently.  Smoke seemed to fill the front seats and an acrid smell of
fire rushed into my nose.  Fire.  A terrible image of us caught in the
burning vehicle flashed through my mind and I yelled to Maggie: Get out
of the car, Get out of the car… I quickly unsnapped my seat belt,
turned, grabbed her in my arms and jumped out the driver’s side door.

     We ran to the other side of the street.  I looked at her and asked: are you all right?  She said yes.  She looked good.  I hugged her.  By the time the car hit us, we were going fairly slowly, but a lot of damage had been done to both vehicles.  Most important, though, Maggie was OK.  I breathed a deep breath.

    I turned my attention to the other driver, a young woman (it turns out I know her dad), eighteen or so.  She was safely out of her car and on her cell phone.  She seemed unhurt.  I asked her to call the police.  There was no fire; the smell had come from the bursting airbags.  The horn of her car was stuck on and we had to put up with the blaring until the police arrived.  A friend of mine happened to drive by and asked if there was anything she could do and I had her take Maggie home: the less she saw of all this, the better.

     The police came, took a report and called the tow trucks.  I called home and it turned out that Maggie’s left eye was swelling up.  My wife was taking her to the hospital.   As things settled down at the crash site, but before my van was towed, a police officer offered to ride me home.  I took it.  I needed to get back to Aidan.

     The most important outcome is Maggie’s eye.  She has a serious corneal abrasion.  It hurts her a lot but, from what I can tell from the little research I’ve done, it should resolve in a few days.  We’ll take her to the eye doctor’s tomorrow and hope all goes well.  Three chocolate truffles seemed to help things today.

    Beyond that, we now have to sort through the complications of doing without our big van.  It was the big, handicapped accessible, van I was driving, and thank goodness.  The other car basically slid underneath us, sparing us a direct impact to our legs.  The big, sturdy truck frame probably did not sustain damage.  But it will take some time to fix, and that means Aidan will not be able to go to school for a while.  At least until we can figure things out.  For now it will be insurance companies and repair shops.  And some gratitude that things did not turn out worse.

    My Taoist sensibilities come out at such moments.  Chuang Tzu is always reminding us that we really do not control our lives, that circumstances can take unexpected turns at any moment, and all you can really do is adjust and move with the flow of things. 

    The Chinese word Tao (Way) can be translated at "path" or "road."  It can refer to the grand cosmic wholeness of everything all together now, or it can imply the unfolding of events in an individual life.  My personal Tao, my road, had a bit of slush and snow on it yesterday.  In some ways it was beautiful: a gentle whiteness settled on the trees and ground.  But it was also treacherous and it nearly turned my way upside down.  It could have turned out much worse, and I dearly hope that Maggie’s eye will heal quickly. 

     In the end, though, Way moves where it will and, as it moves, it can shatter our lives.  It can also remind us that we are little more than the "tip of a hair" in the grander scheme of things.   My impulse here is to celebrate the moments when things turn out well; and just move along with the course of things when they are running bad.  On balance, we are celebrating (thus the chocolate truffles).  The material things will sort themselves out.  I was able to hug my daughter last night.