Perhaps it was the dark, velvet colored van careening from my blindside. Or maybe the ear-piercing screech of my vehicle being smashed at the back. Was it the shattering of my back windows and the indescribable pop of the air inflation devices? It could've been the all-too-real sight of a woman, a complete stranger, being pulled away on a stretcher, mouthing to me, "I'll be alright."
A lot can change in a few moments. A life can be brought into the world; a small bundle of miraculous possibility. A life can also be taken away, leaving a gaping hole in the hearts of many. It wasn't just one moment that defined my shift, rather, a collection of moments; moments so fleeting, but altogether made me realize that life itself is a fragile entity.
You wake up in the morning, groggy headed, trying to find the will to get out of bed and have a productive day. You know that your work shift ahead of you will be a "run-of-the-mill" type and you mentally prepare yourself to take it on once more. You find yourself low on time, so you bypass taking your dogs outside promising you'll return for them later. Shoving a granola bar into your mouth, you semi-dash past your father's room, not bothering to tell him you'll be back later since you don't want to disturb him from his sleep. You figure you'll be back that afternoon so you can see him then.
That was my regular morning routine the day everything changed.
After the crash, I came home to my Father, shaking and crying harder than I had in years. I expected him to be angry, vexed, wearing his stern "how could you be so foolish?" face. Instead, I saw a man who was coming to grips with the thought of losing his youngest child.
My Mother, who called from overseas, sounded as if she were crying for hours. There was pain in her voice, pain that revealed helplessness for her not being able to hold her son, and perhaps the realization that the last time she would've seen him was four months prior.
"Mommy only cares for your safety," she said, reverting her vocabulary back to the one she used when I was so young.
A chaotic symphony is how I would describe the crash. Horns blaring, tires screeching, glass exploding, the crunching of my car door and the pounding sensation coursing through my body along with a release of adrenaline. I black out for a few seconds, thinking, "This is it."
I'm no stranger to an event such as this. At twelve, my body locked itself up in an intangible tether of paralysis. My airways were closed and breathing was nearly impossible. Needless to say, the Otherside was a short time away. Since surviving, I always saw myself as a warrior or some sort of hero. I figured that death was not to be feared and the world will always go on without me.
It would be okay because the Universe doesn't care about what my name is.
Like many heroes in history, fictional or not, it was hubris that proved to be my downfall.
See, the difference between then and now was how my death would've played out. The first experience would've been a peaceful slip, something akin to falling into a deep sleep. This time was violent, vivid, and burned bright like a candle in the wind seconds from blowing out.
For years, I was indifferent as to when the Universe would decide that it would finally be my time. I wanted to live and grow as best as I could, eventually becoming complacent with all my accomplishments, all for the sake of eventually dying with little to no regrets.
It was the velvet van careening from my left, the ear-piercing screech of my vehicle being smashed from the side, the window of my back left side exploding into bits and pieces, the pop of the flotation devices, and the woman being carted away to the ambulance. These things in rapid succession forced me to realize that I have no reason to become complacent in my fragile, precious life.
It was in the moments of my short-lived blackout that a verity came to mind; I saw the good I've done, the people I've reached, and the accomplishments I've made. I thought I'd be at peace, but I was wrong.
I realized there were many chances I would never take, promises I would fail to keep, many memories I would never create, impacts on others I would never make, and most of all, there would be many holes I'd leave behind in the hearts of those I love.
Who am I to leave this world without properly living in it? Yes, the world will continue when I am gone. However, I refuse to leave without taking in all I can or giving back everything I've learned.
One year ago today, I would've said, "Let the Universe take me. It's stronger than me, I can't fight it. I came from it, so it's okay if I go back now."
Today, I stand on the precipice for the second time. I shout my name in defiance, disregarding that the Universe doesn't care about it.
I care about it.
I'll shout past the point where my voice gives out.
I shout, "I choose to stay," and march on.
