I would be dead if I were not saved by an angel. I didn’t see it coming. It was a Friday afternoon around 4 pm. About two hours into my drive to my home city. I would be babysitting the girls for the weekend while their parents were in Ontario for a wedding. It was the last weekend of November. The air was cold and crisp. Snow was coming, but there was no snow yet.
It was almost winter break. I had slowly but surely packed up some belongings to move back to my parents’ home. I would end up doing this drive again, in the following few weeks, once classes were done and exams were completed. It was nearing the end of my post grad degree in Social Work.
A new CD was burned for the four-and-a-half-hour road trip. Adele’s voice filled through the speakers. Her songs were relatable. Her songs reflected my life. Absent thoughts echoed in my head. Thoughts of what would happen when I arrived home. I’d stop at my parent's house, unload my belongings, drive across town and get the girls. We’d spend the weekend together. Indoor Play places. McDonalds. Swimming. The library.
A pack of TimBits sat on the seat beside me. An empty iced coffee in the cup holder. My card holder in the other cup holder.
The wind howled. My car began to shake. It shattered. It rattled. It roared from the outside.
I didn’t see it coming, as I looked back to see if the wind was somehow getting through the back window.
I didn’t see it coming. Time somehow stopped. The rest a blur.
Eyes off the road for a second. Was it longer than a second? The feeling of gravel under my car tires. Oh no! Instinct brought my eyes forward again, an attempt to turn the wheel back to the road.
A failed attempt.
The lights turned black. Blackness appeared around me. My body turned in the car. This isn’t good. Adele’s voice became silent. Everything became silent.
Seconds turned into minutes. Minutes turned into an entirety. Where was I? Who was I? I was lost in the blackness. Somehow lost in my unconsciousness. Unable to breathe. Unable to feel. Unable to speak. Unable to know. Who I was. Where I was.
A voice floated into me. Words unremembered. A voice. My eyes fluttered open. Eyes indented to the blood on my fingers, the heaviness of my arm on the concrete. The broken glass.
He spoke again. A blurred image. A name is forgotten. He shared he saw my accident happen. He shared he was an off-duty paramedic. He shared he was here to help me.
Other voices merged with his. Multiple people. A woman. Another man?
Then there was the pain. Some. Not enough. My arm holding myself up. My car slanted to the side. The roof caved in. The glass from the windows shattered. Then there was the shock. Crying. Frantically crying.
They asked for my wallet. The cardholder that was nestled in the cup holder earlier now could have been anywhere. The cardholder? It was right on the ground beside me. Someone else found my iPhone. Unbroken, not harmed. My car, however, was definitely harmed.
The man took control of things. Called out orders and tasks to the other people there. Then just as soon as the man appeared, he disappeared.
Firefighters arrived. Police. Paramedics. But that man, the first responder, he somehow disappeared.
I was taken out of my car. Transported to the hospital.
Tests were completed. Injuries ruled out. I was left with just a broken finger. But with an assortment of questions about life, questions about the miracle of life.
A policeman, he asked if I won the lottery.
I looked at him confused and dazed. He said that my car flipped four times in the air. He said that when the responders looked in my car, they thought I was dead. He said that I probably should have been dead. He said that without a seatbelt on, I would have been dead.
All I could think, however, was how the man, the first responder, had disappeared. Was I saved by an angel in this visitation?