Saturday afternoon, Mark and I drove to the Wiouwash Trail. We wanted a long walk outside. En route, we were hit by another car (unusual circumstances, details unnecessary). Mark had to swerve. I thought we were clear, but the impact came, which sent us into another swerve, and we landed in a steep (yet blessedly soft) ditch. No airbags deployed, but our hearts raced. It was scary and startling. I was shaken. Much more shaken than I first realized.
Within seconds, the man who hit us was at Mark’s window. He sprinted toward us. He stood in the ditch and offered his hand as we crawled out of the car. With coronavirus in mind, I didn’t take his hand. Once we were standing on the road, he said, “I am so, so sorry. Are you both okay?” Mark and I nodded. He held out his hand and introduced himself: “My name is Paul.” Again, I didn’t shake his hand.
We spoke about what to do next. Paul’s brother was calling the police. Paul said he’d call his mom, as well as a tow truck from a business he knows well. I was disoriented, yet I also felt doubt: should we trust the towing company? What do we do in these situations? Paul calmly described what usually happens (police report, insurance, towing, repair). He spent four years in the marines with two tours of duty. Paul’s a good, kind guy. He admitted fault immediately when the sheriff arrived. There was no reason for doubt, yet I had nagging thoughts.
His mom arrived and introduced herself, extending her hand. Again, I didn’t take it. I started pacing the road, both to move my body (I was cold) and to calm myself. Paul’s mom joined me and asked again, “How are you doing?” Through tears I told her I was scared and startled. I was okay, just processing. She walked with me and shared, “Paul hit black ice when he was 16. He almost died. Yet the scariest thing wasn’t that, it was when he was overseas.” I nodded. This family! So open, honest, and kind.
We walked back to where everyone waited. I tried to express myself: I’m not upset with anyone; I just feel unsettled. When I began shivering, mom invited me into her car, which I accepted. She turned up the heat and offered me Kleenex. Again, my thoughts went to COVID, and I kindly refused. I looked around the car, wondering about its cleanliness.
Eventually, we got to the service station, just down the road, run by another good, kind person, and received a loaner car (which I wiped down as soon as we got home). We said goodbye to Paul and his mom. They re-expressed apologies. We thanked them for their kind support.
I thought my emotional distance came from the fright of the crash. That night, just before bed, I realized my deeper fear, which came from the COVID warnings about social distancing. If not for the pandemic, I would have taken Paul’s hand and allowed him to help me from the car. During introductions, I would have shaken hands. I would have accepted that Kleenex and let myself be tended to. I would have hugged them both as we left the scene.
As this flashed through my mind, I cried tears of sadness, disappointment, and loss. I did what I was supposed to do—I followed regulations—but I distanced myself not just physically. I distanced myself emotionally. I did not return the kindness that these strangers showed me.
The car accident gave me insight. It showed me how my heart is protected. It reinforced the importance (in non-pandemic times) of handshakes, hugs, and acts of care. I was more startled by my own thoughts and reactions than by the accident itself. My daily intentions of compassion, presence, and love flew out the window in the face of corona fears.
The main point of my post is this: We need to follow the CDC guidelines; we must do this to save each other; yet it’s vital to keep our hearts open. Social distancing can quickly morph into emotional distancing. This is a time where compassion can either expand or contract.
You might think, I’m staying home and not driving, so this story doesn’t apply. But when you’re out walking, running, or just breathing fresh air in the backyard, what if you see a stranger in need? What if an accident happens in front of you? How will we respond—with help or with fear? I hope I’ll respond differently next time. I hope I’ll respond with calm, compassionate, non-distant actions and words.
kindness spreads