To the Big Ass Truck Driver who almost hit me

 

To the big ass truck driver who almost hit me last night:  Yes, you have a big-ass truck.  How appropriate that YOU drive it.  They say some people buy dogs that look like them.  They say some people buy vehicles that reflect their personalities.  Mission accomplished.

I work in healthcare, but I am not a hero.  I go to church but I am not worthy of the title Christian.  I have taught people the importance of intentionally cultivating virtues (like patience, and forgiveness), and yet I myself am a work-in-progress.  Somehow between now and tomorrow morning when I go to church I have to figure out how to forgive you for almost killing both of us.

I was leaving work, it was dark.  My regular lights were on, as were my fog lights because then I can see better.  The road was clear.  I was listening to an interview on the radio where someone was talking about how to raise children that feel they can communicate with you.  You have to start when they are little and say:  “You can tell ME anything.”  I found that fascinating and a very purposeful child-rearing technique.  I was thinking about who I could share that with.  I was driving in a straight line, and I was driving about 5 miles slower than the speed limit.

This past summer I told my nephew who is a brand-new driver what You again proved last night.  That I can be the best, most careful driver in the world but I still have to take into account that we are surrounded by inconsiderate idiots on the road.  People do things you just can’t predict or reckon.  And THOSE are the people new drivers - and all drivers - have to watch out for.

I also told him that I found that just before an Event happens on the road, we find ourselves moving in slow-motion.  It’s like the Twilight Zone.  Last night found that to be true as well.  I could hear the radio interview in regular conversational tone, but I could see you coming down from the hill on the road to my right and looking like you weren’t going to stop.  Some drivers wait until the last minute to stop at the sign and that makes me crazy – because YOU NEVER KNOW WHO IS GOING TO MISS THE STOP SIGN … LIKE YOU DID.

I watched you keep coming into the road and in less time than it takes to type this I saw 3 options in front of me:  #1) to stay straight and hit you on your driver’s side and kill us both; #2) to swerve to the right and try to go up that Side street hill without flipping my vehicle or clipping your truck bed; #3) to swerve out to the left into the oncoming lane where no traffic was coming.  All of those three options were in front of me in a split second in a very omniscient way. Yet, I was only thinking how bad it would be to go to the hospital where I work, dead, in the back of an ambulance. 

You know what I chose.  I am amazed that I did not have the wherewithal to even swear at you and your big ass truck as you caused this scene.  As if I had eyes on the back of my head, I saw you change course from your initial attempt to shoot out in front and around me to turn quickly, sharply and go behind me.  My heart in my chest felt like it was quivering as I drove along.

Were you in a hurry to pick up a pizza?  Were you on your way to get beer?  Were you already rushing someone to the ER for some reason?  What was so important that you were going to blow off that stop sign and shoot into my path to try to cut in front and around me to the left side.  I will never know.  But what I do know is this – you have added to an already totally stressed-out year by being a belligerent driver.  I consider us walking away from this in one piece as no less than a MIRACLE. 

In this last twelve months: I have buried a close friend, consoled another friend who buried her husband, tried to help colleagues at work not get bogged down with talk of the pandemic, talked with my parents through the serious health issues they are struggling with, dealt with a bully at work, had hives, and other health issues crop up, had stressors this week relative to my dog’s upcoming surgery and the list goes on ….  But this morning when I got out of bed it was like I didn’t remember in my brain what happened last night.   Instead, my whole BODY remembered it …. I ached and shook from the stress.  I was not sure I could pull myself together and move into the day.

Oh, but I did.  Like every other day, I pulled myself together.  I put myself in God’s hands.  I tried to get some life energy flowing through me by putting one foot in front of the other.  I looked at my weekend task list and started to do the small things that were manageable.  I still could not process the events of last night yet.  So, here I am doing it the way I know best:  writing about it. 

I am someone.  I deserve to live as much as you do.  I have dogs that depend on me, friends and family that care about me.  I want to see my nephews make Eagle Scout someday.  I want to be there for my sister when she achieves her next big thing in life.  I am needed in the delivery room at a neighboring hospital to help a young woman have a baby in February.  I matter.  I may be a small piece in the puzzle but you, Mr. Big Ass Truck Driver, do not see that even small pieces matter.  You think you are first.

I hope you get your license taken away.  If last night was not a wake up call for you, if you are talking to your buddies saying what a kick-ass driver you are that you avoided a collision last night, I hope you don’t kill someone from your recklessness.  Actually, I hope every neighbor on your street lets their dog dump in your driveway.

Maybe tomorrow I can forgive you.  But for now, I am really, really mad at you.

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