Life, Death, and Everything in Between
I might have been one of the last people to see a man alive tonight. Last I saw him was through the mangeled steel labyrinth of his smashed up car on the side of his highways. I ran out of my car to help, but an off-duty fireman was already there, holding his hand. He was trapped…
Let me backtrack.
I’ve been in DC for a few days working on Stop The Pike Hike. Spencer and Troy needed to catch a flight this morning at 6am, so I drove them a bit earlier to get them there. We left at 2am. Only now do I realize that these characters don’t yet exist in my blog, so I’ll introduce the entire cast now.
Spencer was a professor of mine whom I opted to work with. He is terribly smart and habitually organized. For such a young guy, he really knows the in’s and the out’s of politics, and is really the driving force behind the organization. All of his plans are simple and effective; he knows exactly how to get things done. All of a sudden, Spencer turns off the switch and is someone you can kick back and watch the Celtics game with.
Mike is the founder of Stop The Pike Hike. He and Spencer grew up in the same town, and are the two leaders of the anti-toll charge. Mike is creative, almost to a fault. If you need an idea, Mike has a dozen. My most recent video was his brainchild; I only saw it to reality. Mike, a married man, gives me hope for the future. Mike has all the best parts of being a kid, but is an adult. Or maybe he has all the best parts of being an adult, and is kid. Who knows.
Troy is the organizations newest member. He is a Coast Guard man, and sometimes slips back into that disciplined voice that I know he has to use while on duty. If you need something done, no matter how small or big, Troy is your man. I’ve never, ever, ever heard him say “no” or “I can’t.” He just succeeds.
So, It’s 2am. We are driving to Baltimore from DC to get to the airport. By this time, I’m exhausted and really am not excited about driving. I get to thinking, which is never a good idea, and I can’t seem to get my mind off of how tired I am. Not so much physically. Mentally, the campaign trail is very difficult. You meet people and they are your contacts; friends are hard to come by. If youre not running around to conferences and meetings, you’re at your computer doing research, preparing media, or social networking.
I’m sitting in the car, in a particularly lonely and frustrated mood, and we see red lights. “This can’t be good,” I hear Troy mutter from the back seat. As we pull up, I throw on my e-brake and run out of the car. I hear another door close; Troy is right behind me. We follow a path of broken glass, shattered plastic, and tire tracks to an oak tree, with a destroyed 4 door parked on it. There is a man there; I ask if anyone is hurt. I see a cut hand sticking out from the car as the fireman talks to this person. He is almost horizontal. The car is a mess. We can’t move him. I ask if the fireman is ok, and he says yes.
Cars are trying to get by, and I ask myself if that man has a family. Surely, somebody out there is almost as scared as he is right now. “No time to think about that,” I say to myself. I dodge cars to get across the street. These people are just angry that they are being slowed down. A father, a brother, a friend might be dying, and they just need to get home. I detest the human race in that moment.
I run across and find the second car. I ask if anyone is hurt. Troy is right behind me. A young lady says “My arm was bleeding but I’m fine now.” Everyone seems coherent. Another girl is crying hysterically, and keeps repeating “The car was sideways! It was all the way sideways!” I look over and see a third car with the airbags already deflated. The owner is nowhere to be seen.
Sirens in the distance…
I didn’t think about it then, but I the young lady’s car must’ve been the second one to hit that man’s. The first was the one whose owner was nowhere to be found. I can’t imagine what they feel. No, I can’t thnk about that, I think to myself.
I see the ambulance lights parting a sea of traffic. My car is doing nothing but getting in the way, and I’m not helping. So I run to the car to move it. Spencer is outside the car making sure that we are moving it in time. Troy jumps in behind me, and I hustle to move the Fiesta. As I pop it into first, all I see to my left side is that cut hand, reaching out the window.
As we drive off, I offer up all of the loving kindness I can to that man, his family, and anyone who he has ever loved or has loved him back. Losing is hard; I know this lesson all too well.
All that man had was the hand and voice of a stranger to try to tell him it would be ok. I’m sure he wanted to hold the hand of someone he knew and trusted, but all he had was the kindness of a stranger. In that moment I realized something horrible and true. We don’t choose who we die with. I look to my right, and there is Spencer, wide eyed and silent. I realize then that we only choose who we live with.
