Surely, not me?
We live out in the country. Sort of. I mean we are actually only about 10 minutes from all sorts of big box civilization and mini marts galore, but there is only one row of houses between us and acres and acres of farmland. It’s one of the reasons we moved out here. Even though I knew that no one would come see us, or at least not without a lot of arm twisting and cajoling. But I love that when it rains I can smell the alfalfa fields or that I can hear the cows in the distance. I love that we can see the stars so clearly and I love that we still get that small town feel.
Mostly I love being so removed from all the ugliness of city life. There are no horns honking. There are no tires squealing. There is very little base thumping and vibrating my children across the floor as the driver slowly ambles past the house in the attempt to make sure EVERY living creature has heard the magnitude of his stereo. No crime. No accidents.
That is until tonight when we were on our way home and all of a sudden were brought to a stop just minutes from our front door because Flight for Life had landed in the middle of the country road we were on. I’ve never seen so many flashing lights in such a small space. My heart stopped and I felt the blood drain from my face as I realized what was happening. When we were allowed to pass after the helicopter had taken off we drove by a single car that had smashed into a very old and large tree. The car was almost cut in half. I almost threw up.
My husband is a claims adjuster for a large insurance company here and I’ve forbidden him from talking to me about the claims he gets everyday. My mother was in an awful car accident when I was in the 8th grade that almost killed her and since then I am the person who actually looks the other way when I have to drive by an accident. Even to know I’m driving by it makes me feel sick and like I should run home and call every single person I love to make sure they are ok. Tonight, the first thoughts in my head were “its ok, my family is in the car with me.”
I am one of those people who have chosen to live in the bliss of false belief that “things like that don’t happen to me.” My family will always be safe. My children, or anyone else I love for that matter, will never be stricken with some sort of horrible illness. My house will never burn down. And it is most definitely a choice. Because I know that things like that happen to people everyday. People I know have had these horrible things happen to them, and worse. A good friend of mine from high school just lost her mother last week to a heart attack. This was a woman who battled and beat breast cancer THREE times. And then out of the blue, she dropped to the floor and died. I KNOW these things happen. But I have to make myself believe that by living out in the country, or driving the safest car, or eating organic foods that none of them will ever happen to ME.
And tonight for a moment, that illusion was challenged. But as I sit here writing this I can feel that veil of ignorance softly dropping back over me, and I welcome it. The comfort it brings and the familiarity of denial. Because while the realist in me screams that I should prepare for the worst and always take precautions, the part of me that believes that my children will always be happy also foolishly believes that by maintaining this ignorance that that will somehow make me exempt. Exempt from the pain of fear and loss. Exempt from the loneliness of watching someone you love suffer.
And so I will go to sleep tonight secure in the knowledge that my family is safe and that surely, bad things don’t happen to me.
Mostly I love being so removed from all the ugliness of city life. There are no horns honking. There are no tires squealing. There is very little base thumping and vibrating my children across the floor as the driver slowly ambles past the house in the attempt to make sure EVERY living creature has heard the magnitude of his stereo. No crime. No accidents.
That is until tonight when we were on our way home and all of a sudden were brought to a stop just minutes from our front door because Flight for Life had landed in the middle of the country road we were on. I’ve never seen so many flashing lights in such a small space. My heart stopped and I felt the blood drain from my face as I realized what was happening. When we were allowed to pass after the helicopter had taken off we drove by a single car that had smashed into a very old and large tree. The car was almost cut in half. I almost threw up.
My husband is a claims adjuster for a large insurance company here and I’ve forbidden him from talking to me about the claims he gets everyday. My mother was in an awful car accident when I was in the 8th grade that almost killed her and since then I am the person who actually looks the other way when I have to drive by an accident. Even to know I’m driving by it makes me feel sick and like I should run home and call every single person I love to make sure they are ok. Tonight, the first thoughts in my head were “its ok, my family is in the car with me.”
I am one of those people who have chosen to live in the bliss of false belief that “things like that don’t happen to me.” My family will always be safe. My children, or anyone else I love for that matter, will never be stricken with some sort of horrible illness. My house will never burn down. And it is most definitely a choice. Because I know that things like that happen to people everyday. People I know have had these horrible things happen to them, and worse. A good friend of mine from high school just lost her mother last week to a heart attack. This was a woman who battled and beat breast cancer THREE times. And then out of the blue, she dropped to the floor and died. I KNOW these things happen. But I have to make myself believe that by living out in the country, or driving the safest car, or eating organic foods that none of them will ever happen to ME.
And tonight for a moment, that illusion was challenged. But as I sit here writing this I can feel that veil of ignorance softly dropping back over me, and I welcome it. The comfort it brings and the familiarity of denial. Because while the realist in me screams that I should prepare for the worst and always take precautions, the part of me that believes that my children will always be happy also foolishly believes that by maintaining this ignorance that that will somehow make me exempt. Exempt from the pain of fear and loss. Exempt from the loneliness of watching someone you love suffer.
And so I will go to sleep tonight secure in the knowledge that my family is safe and that surely, bad things don’t happen to me.
posted by at 8:11 PM
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