Late last night my husband popped his head into our bedroom, "Babe?"
"Yes..."
"Are you still awake?"
"I am."
He then quietly asked if he could read me something. To which, thinking he was going to supply the latest clever commentary from his blog, I replied, "You're lucky I love you."
His solemn answer was a barely audible, "I know." This is what he read to me:
We drove in snow tonight. The wipers batted feebly at snowflakes glowing in halogen beams. I hunched over the wheel, staring at diminishing ruts in the slush, distracted by sopping whiteness that kept coming and coming and drawing my gaze from the road, nursing the accelerator, trying to stay ahead of approaching headlights and behind nearing taillights. Branches laden with early snow jutted out of the darkness. My wife sang along with the CD over the noise of the road and the sound of splashing tires.
This morning, fifteen minutes before the first bell, the staff met in the library to hear bad news. Usually I stand on the margin unaffected, unaware of the loss, but not this morning. This morning they said Brittany's name. Car accident, life support, brain dead, words that swirled in a snowy blur, dazzling, blinding.
In my memory: a persistent smile. A wicked grin, sometimes. A hello in the hall, a chat every week or so. Laughing about last year's class. Trying to predict the future. Fidgeting, shaky confidence, typical for a junior. Slight hesitation. Looking for approval. Tossing out big plans of school overseas, community college first, though. Running Start. Maybe soon, maybe later.
What should I do, Mr. Anderson? Don't wait, Brittany--sign up now. You never know how life could change, what'll happen in days or months. Yeah, she says, unsure but sympathetic. I dunno. A goofy grin. Take your chance while you've got it. Circumstances change. You'll change. You never know.
I said that. A day before the crash, I said that.
We drive in snow, searching the darkness for the road ahead, looking for the friendly glow of taillights, spurred on by the headlights behind us. We take our chances, we guess, we stray. We smile and press on until our moment comes and the snow and the darkness swallow us up and we are but shadows of ourselves in the memories of those who drive in snow.
On Sunday November 20th, my sister was shopping at JC Penney in the Tacoma Mall when gun fire erupted less than fifty yards away. My brother was hit by a car while riding his bike on the streets of Bellingham. On Monday the 21st my mom got the unofficial word that she had gotten a long-awaited new job with her employer. That same night while she was driving home she nearly ran over a woman lying in the road who had already been hit, and left, by another car.
On November 24th my family had every reason to give thanks--we were all okay.
Our lives can change forever in the blink of an eye and we often have no control over it. My husband sometimes teases me because I sing all of the time, but recently I think he got it when he said "You always have a song in your heart." And I do--because I love my life, my family, my friends, and I know that at any given second they may not be around any more.
We're all driving through this snow storm of life together; When you're leading my headlights will be shining behind you to encourage you to go on, when you're following my taillights will be there to guide you; I know you'll do the same for me.
I love you all very much and wish you a wonderful holiday season this year. Please remember this as you're going through life. Live each day of life as if it is a holiday, joyous and worthy of celebration.
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