Somebody's Gone Away
June 2nd, 2002
It’s June 2nd, 2002. It is exactly 4:40 a.m., and I’m driving from Destin to Tallahassee -- trying to make it to my Course in Miracles class at 9 a.m. Route 20 is a single-lane, deserted, bayside roadway at this point. There are no streetlights, and absolutely nobody else is on the road except one car -- approximately one-half of a mile ahead of me. I’ve got my high-beams on, because it’s pitch-black, and I’ve seen many deer on this road at this time of the day/night.
My eye catches onto something, in the middle of the other side of the road, up ahead. I slow down a bit, and, as I cruise by, I notice what looks like a garbage bag or suitcase or something. Then… I see a smashed-in pick-up truck, in a ditch, on the other side of the road.
As I passed by, it seemed as if the truck had been abandoned. There were no lights on, there was no smoke, and no sign of action. In addition, the car ahead of me hadn’t stopped, so I figured that the accident must have occurred many hours earlier, and the wrecker hadn’t yet removed the vehicle. I was in the middle of the nowhere, so I could justify (in my mind) that a vehicle could be “left” like that. It wouldn’t have been the first time that I’d seen something like that.
I remember thinking “fatal” as I drove past.
But what was that “bag” in the road? Why did I see debris strewn about?
Could this have just happened? No way!
Something deeeeep inside of me decided that I’d should stop, back-up, and check it out. I have to admit this, however, I did not want to find… exactly what I found.
By the look of the truck, upright, in a ditch, about 30 yards away, there couldn’t have been any survivors. The front end was crushed (like an accordion), and the hood was smashed up into the broken windshield. The right-side of the vehicle was pretty banged-up, and I assumed that it had rolled at least once or twice.
Former Pickup Truck
The day is June-the-second; the year: 2002
It’s 5 am; it’s dark, I’m driving home (and this is true)
I’m 10 miles out of Niceville, in a place they call “bad luck.”
Yeah, off the road (they must have rolled), a former pickup truck
There is no light nor sound when I get out to check the scene
While just across the street: the bay (the water, so serene)
My heart is racing (past the luggage, clothing, and “Bud Light”)
As I prepare myself for this: a very morbid sight
I pointed my high-beams toward the truck, and my pulse was pounding as I got out of the car. I watched where I was stepping, because it was pitch-black, and the headlights made everything seem even spookier than it already was. There was no sound, no heat, and no movement coming from the truck. Again, part of me was still hoping that the ambulances, cops, etc. had already come and gone, and that they’d left the truck in the ditch ...
…but no, nooooo. no.
On the side of the road was a luggage bag, and then another. Stuff was everywhere, and I knew that if anyone had been here before me, they would have cleaned this up.
I was the first one on the scene, and absolutely nobody was here but me! No cars, no neighbors, nobody to talk to, no light, no sounds. I thought that, maybe, well, maybe the driver was drunk, and maybe he ran away from the scene to avoid a DUI (I hoped). I was afraid to call out, afraid to find “body parts,” and afraid to look down into the ditch. I moved the bag from the middle of the road to the side embankment, and was about to go down into the darkness by the vehicle, when some headlights approached from the opposite direction. Thank God!
A guy got out of his car, and I told him we needed a flashlight. That’s when an emergency vehicle (a small jeep with a red-flashing light) approached. The guy from the car handed me his flashlight, and, without wanting to, I went down and looked into the truck. Inside was a young boy (maybe nineteen or so), strapped into the passenger’s side of the vehicle.
He was still, alive, with blood all over his face, neck, and arms. He wasn’t moving. He looked at me with sad, empty eyes, which were rolled, halfway-up under his low eyelids. He was hurt bad, and in shock. I asked him if he was alright, and he didn’t even try to speak (just that spacey, glazed look). By now I knew that the driver must have been thrown-out, and must be close by.
Meanwhile, the jeep drove up on to an embankment, overlooking the ditch, and its searchlight revealed the body of the driver. From my perspective, the body immediately reminded me of one of my younger massage therapy students. He was face-down in the mud, with his arm up over his head, completely still. The EMT checked on him, and rolled him over to try to talk to him, but the boy remained motionless. My guess is that he was dead.
“Curtain Calls”
Hold your loved ones tight, savor every hug and kiss.
‘Cause (someday) “curtain calls” and that will be the end of this.
I checked-in on the boy in the truck again, and again he just gazed back, blank. I said something like “Everything is going to be alright,” even though I knew that everything was going to be far, far, far from all right, for a long, long, long time. At this point, another emergency specialist (this one in fireman’s gear) came up to the truck to check on the boy inside. By now, another car had stopped, and another vehicle with flashing lights was arriving.
Still no noise.
Was I in some kind of a-void?
I asked the emergency tech if there was anything I could do. He said “Did anyone see the crash?” I said “No.” And then he said something like, “No, we’ll take it from here.” As I slowly walked back to my car, I heard one man make the radio call for “the chopper.”
I got in my car and slowly drove away, numb. I’m still numb.
I hate to say this, but I am so glad that I didn’t walk down into the black ditch and find the driver. I’m glad I had some distance from that.
Somebody’s Gone Away
Somebody’s gone away today
Somebody someone loved
Somebody’s gone away (he’s better off, now, up above)
Somebody left behind a friend, but (maybe) not for long
Somebody’s gone away,
Somebody sing somebody’s song
I drove back toward Tallahassee, and all I could think of was the vulnerability of the human body, the immediacy of an automobile wreck, the ramifications of driving after drinking, and the frailty of this thing we call “life.” Any of us can transition at any time.
What next?
My momma doesn’t know it (yet)
My daddy, still asleep
My girlfriend won’t believe it (that’s the last she’ll see of me)
My sister’s gonna cry, each time she walks on by (my room)
My body’s in a ditch, and now my life is over, soon
I look down at the wreckage and it is a sorry sight
Luggage, clothes and sunglasses (and cans that say “Bud Light”)
Why did I try to drive, why did I try to get back home?
Why am I floating upward?
Why am I all alone?
I see Paul in the truck, he’s still strapped in, he’s not dead (yet)
I’ll see him at my funeral (he’ll shed a tear, I bet)
I’m way above the water now, the crash-scene just a speck
I feel so light and free, I’m going up (okay, what next?)
The whole situation re-Mind-ed me about my family, about the woman that I love, about children, about loss. I thought about this guy’s family and friends. I recited the
“Child of Light” prayer, out loud, for each of those boys.
I managed to make it to my Course in Miracles class by 8:50 am, and talked with Reverend Bill Williams about my experience before class. I was still “shaken-up,” to say the least. Bill was, as usual, profound and calming.
It is now 11:21, and it has been a long day. It can only get better.
I Know HE IS ok
i saw death today
I know he is ok
i hope he is ok
i think he is ok
i believe he is ok
i doubt myself… (what do i really think/know/feel?)
i know he is ok
i know he is ok
I know he is ok
I know it is All ok
i’d like to think that it is all going to be ok
i (intellectually) know it is all ok
-------
i felt death today
it did not “feel” good, nor did it “feel” ok
i know that his Spirit is ok
I know that “Spirit” is ok
i feel a lot of material-world, “not-ok-ness” right now
I Know HE IS ok.
We have all heard this a zillion times, but maybe a zillion-and-one ain’t bad:
Love for today, live for today.
Give love today.
Show it, say it, do it.
Be it.
Today could be your/their last, or (at least) the last in this lifetime.
Hug your loved ones and tell them that you love them.
Love yourself, and take care of yourself and others.
Say “
I Love You” today.
Thank you for allowing me to express myself and maybe heal some of this.
Love, Lenny
