Life is normal — until it isn’t.
On an ordinary day, I was heading off to work, minding my own business, doing all the right things on the road, when suddenly — bam. Out of nowhere, a Ram pickup truck T-boned my car.
Just like that, life changed in an instant.
I felt the impact. I felt the shunt as my vehicle bounced to the right and slammed into the kerb, or maybe the embankment — I’m still not completely sure. By that point, everything seemed to be moving in slow motion.
The car bounced back, lifted up, and suddenly I was airborne.
I tried to steer. I tried to brake. But where was I going? Nowhere. The car had a mind of its own.
Then I crash-landed into a concrete garden bed. All I could see in front of me was a metal fence. It was surreal. In one violent moment, I took out a massive section of it.
Somehow, I ended up sitting there with the front of my car up on the fence, still clutching the steering wheel. The music was blaring, and there was this god-awful squealing noise coming from my car.
In the middle of all the madness, I had the common sense to turn the radio off.
Then I tried to turn the car off — but it wouldn’t work. I think the front wheels were still up in the air, spinning and squealing.
For a moment, I felt like I was in control.
Then someone yanked open the driver’s door, and suddenly I wasn’t. My body started shaking. Shock hit me all at once.
They asked me, “Do you want to stay in the car? Do you want to get out?”
I didn’t even know which way was up or down. My head was spinning.
Then common sense kicked in again. I rang my son, Jackson. He was only minutes away, and I asked him to come and help me.
I needed family.
I knew it was an accident. I knew I wasn’t at fault. But my car couldn’t be driven off the fence. Metal palings were stuck up underneath the front of it.
Bystanders who had seen my car go through the fence came over to help. Everyone assured me the car was fine. They told me it was driveable, that there wasn’t much damage.
So, trusting their wisdom, I drove it five hundred metres home.
Later, when the tow truck driver came, he looked at my X-Trail and told me to kiss her goodbye.
“She’s not coming home,” he said.
Ever.
And I cried like I had lost a limb.
I loved that car.
At first, I thought I wasn’t injured. I thought I was lucky and that maybe I had walked away from it all.
Then the adrenaline started to settle.
The neck pain came. The shoulder pain came. The numbness in my hands and arms came in full force.
I felt lost. Bereft. Sad. Sorry. Scared.
But that was only the beginning.
Days later, the nightmares started. Days later, I was in and out of the doctor’s surgery, in and out of radiology, filing police reports, following up insurance, making calls, filling out forms, and trying to understand a process I had never asked to be part of.
All of a sudden, I had a full-time job dealing with… I don’t even really know what, to be honest.
And then there was the driving.
Now I flinch behind the wheel. I yelp. I call out. I find myself driving in the far-left lane on the motorway doing 80 km/h in a 100 zone.
It doesn’t even make sense to stay in that lane. Cars are merging from on-ramps. Vehicles are cutting across my path. If anything, it should feel worse.
But I stay there anyway.
Changing lanes feels too complicated. Too much. Too dangerous.
I am hyper-vigilant. Every car feels too close. Every movement feels like a threat.
It’s not a nice place to be.
For once in my life, I cannot wait for time to move faster, because people say time heals all wounds.
I hope they’re right.
There was a cyclist directly behind me that day. In a sliding-doors moment, I had the option to let him go first.
On this occasion, I decided I would go first.
It hit me a few weeks later – there is no doubt in my mind that my decision to go first saved his life.
And in that same moment, my X-Trail saved mine.
When I left the scene of the accident, I found myself looking through the bushes.
What was I looking for?
A pushbike.
A dead cyclist.
That is the honest truth.
But I found neither.
My only witness had not stopped. He had simply ridden off into the sunset.
And I was left standing there, surrounded by broken metal, broken car, and the beginning of an aftermath I never saw coming.
writerunblockedrepublic 
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